Return to Sender
by romulus lupin
Summary: CHAPTER FIFTEEN! Originally, my take on the classic "Harry Dies and Is Returned" storyline but this has gone in directions I never envisioned ... last chapter, new arrivals at HADES are bringing major migraines to Destiny Repair's CEO and Operations Director. Who are they and what's going on?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I would like to acknowledge Aileen Autarkeia for one of the best disclaimers I have ever read in a long time. To quote from her story "Guarding His Life" ... "As much as I wish I was, I am NOT British, I do NOT have blonde hair and I do NOT own Harry Potter."

To which I must add "... and I am NOT female!"

Also, other (hopefully) recognizable characters are the property of their respective creators and are being used here with no intention of any monetary gain or profit motive. I'm doing this for fun and would like to express my thanks and appreciation for their creativity which has made fanfic a totally awesome and wonderful place.

Without further ado ...

Chapter One. Kansas … Or Not

Albus Dumbledore was in heaven.

He hoped.

Mere moments before, he was literally flying – the killing curse ripping into his aged, disintegrating body and he was FREE – soaring above the spires and crenelated towers of Hogwarts as his ravaged body fell, watching the battle raging far below dispassionately … he was at peace, secure in the knowledge that everything was going according to plan …

He felt a tug and found himself sucked through a thin, long tube in a sensation like – and yet unlike – apparition …

And here he was.

He blinked.

The place was … beautiful, and peaceful, and soothing – completely unlike anything that he could have imagined or envisioned. Truthfully, he'd half-expected angelic choirs, blaring trumpets, cottony clouds around his ankles, pearly gates and an old man with a large key and a huge tome …

Not this.

Clear sky, warmth from a brilliant sun, gentle breezes carrying the scent of wildflowers, soft, deep-green grass as far as the eye can see … The only clouds he could discern were far to the horizon – on land separated from where he stood by a wide, swiftly flowing river that was black as midnight, roiling with eddies and whitecaps as if it had its own weather disturbance ….

He blurted out the first thing which came to mind at the grand vista – "Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore!"

"You can say that again – and don't call me Toto!"

Yelping in surprise, he spun and crouched, wand out and pointed at the threat – and blinked at the sight of a tall, broad-shouldered woman standing beside an old, barnacled gangplank leading up to a decrepit, dirty and battered barge. Dumbledore's heart sank as he realized just where he was even as a part of his brain tried to deny what he was seeing in front of him.

The woman was an impressive sight: midnight-black hair to her shoulders, icy blue eyes in a tanned, high cheek boned face with a strong chin. She was wearing a sleeveless, heavily embroidered leather tunic which set off her toned, muscular arms; dark leather pants tucked into calf-high boots. A sword was slung across her back, the ornate handle visible behind her head; armbands and bracers adorned her arms.

A whip and a silvery disk with carved runes – a chakram, Dumbledore realized, something he'd seen decades before at a museum in India – hung from a leather belt around her waist.

He felt the woman's crystal-blue eyes studying him before she spoke, "There will be no silly wand waving here, old man." Startled, Dumbledore realized that he was still pointing his wand at her and sheepishly dropped it as she continued, "For one – you're dead, so magic as you know it doesn't work here.

"For another – we'll get to that in a moment."

Her eyes shifted, dismissing him, and focused behind him – and he nearly jumped again as he heard faint, nervous tittering behind him.

Turning around, he gaped.

He wasn't alone.

A largish crowd stood behind him – muggles, by the look of them – but there was something … off. A few were grinning; others looking around in wonder, most were simply lost and confused … and more than one nodding in apparent agreement with his sentiment about not being in Kansas anymore.

"Welcome to Hades," the woman boomed in a commanding voice – an announcement which shook Dumbledore to the very core and brought sounds of dismay, and fear, and surprise from the crowd.

She held up a hand. "Let me re-phrase that," she rumbled. "Welcome to the Holding Area for Death, Eternity and Serenity – HADES for short."

Dumbledore heaved a sigh of relief as the imposing woman continued, "Before any of you ask, I'm stepping in for the Ferryman. The old guy needed a break and I've … hem, hem … _volunteered_ for the day. Consider yourselves lucky you got me rather than the old curmudgeon."

She glanced around and was met by tentative smiles. Nodding, she continued. "A few things – first, as I said, this is HADES – magical division, which means that wizards and witches are brought here before being processed, which I will explain later."

Comprehension flooded Dumbledore as he looked at the crowd – _that_ was what he'd felt earlier. He shook his head at having missed the obvious; having attended International Confederation of Wizards meetings for years, he should have spotted the fact that (a) the crowd was magical, and (b) it was only magical Britain that held tight to the idea that 'proper' wizard attire was robes and such – the rest of the world had long 'gone muggle'.

A shame, in his eyes.

"Next, as I told our guest," she nodded at Dumbledore, who'd turned back to listen, "magic as you know it doesn't work here. No silly wand-waving and if you want to settle your differences –" Her blue eyes focused on two people who were glaring at each other – "you do it the old-fashioned way. Hands, fists, feet, teeth – rocks if you can get them – but no magic.

"IS THAT CLEAR?"

The last sentence came in a tone of voice just slightly lower than a sonic boom and the crowd, including Dumbledore, quickly nodded.

"Good. Now, I expect that most of you know the drill. You get on the thing there –" pointing at the barge and gangplank – "where I will bring you lot over the River Styx to the Plains of Judgment where further processing will take place."

A loud, abrasive voice cut her off: "What happens if we don't want to get on that scow?"

Dumbledore rolled his eyes – there always had to be a heckler somewhere – and he tensed, prepared to jump out of the way in case the woman decided to take sword or chakram to the buffoon. The woman, however, responded calmly: "You don't have to if you don't want to. HADES policy is to allow you time to think over your decision – whether to cross over or not."

Her eyes, however, turned Arctic-cold as she continued, "Which means I toss you in the river where you'll stay until the bosses arrive. You can then make your case to them – whether you move on or go back is up to them."

Dumbledore's eyes flicked to the river – and felt faint as he realized that what he'd earlier thought were whitecaps were actually people, their pale faces floating in the black, oily water.

"Next question?"

Dumbledore hesitantly raised his hand, and the woman faced him.

"Albus Dumbledore, my lady. Umm – what about passage? As I recall …"

The woman nodded. "Yes – a coin for passage across the Styx, right?" There were tentative nods from some in the crowd; others, however, were going through their pockets or were gaping, looking worried. "Don't worry about it."

She scanned the crowd before continuing, "The management did away with that a few – well, whatever, ages ago. Too many people arriving, not knowing the customs so the bosses decided to forego it." She smiled toothily, her white teeth contrasting against her tanned face. "You can leave a gratuity if you wish."

Dumbledore sighed in relief, although he wasn't _that _concerned. He still had his moneybag from the day before; he could also feel his bag of lemon drops in a pocket which he would offer if needed. What really bothered him, however, was that he had to get to someone in authority – the bosses, as the woman had said – in order to plead his case to stick around for a bit.

It was essential to THE PLAN that he be in a position to meet Harry when the latter passed through, as he knew the boy must … everything hinged on Harry going back when Voldemort removed the horcrux in his head rather than crossing the river and staying here …

He was about to ask when sirens – loud, numerous, ear shattering – erupted from everywhere and nowhere and he gasped at the look of utter surprise and sudden fear on the woman's face as an atonal voice boomed, horrifyingly robotic in its enunciation: "VALHALLA EMERGENCY! VALHALLA EMERGENCY! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!"

"Mein Gott!" someone shouted and Dumbledore panicked – whatever was happening wasn't good and he needed to be safe! He looked around wildly for shelter – saw the gangplank for the barge and made a running jump for it – only to find hard hands grabbing his throat and crotch, lifting him into the air … a beat and he was flying, right into the panicking crowd, bowling the front ranks over as the woman roared, "GET AWAY FROM THERE! FERRY'S IN LOCKDOWN – GET AWAY I SAY!"

A shaken Dumbledore sat up to see the awesome woman guarding the gangplank, unsheathed sword in one hand, silvery chakram in the other, eyes promising an unearthly pain if they tried to pass her. She was magnificent, his addled mind thought, standing there like some mythical warrior princess as lightning flashed behind her while the flat, atonal voice blared: "VALHALLA EMERGENCY, CODE BLUE. FERRY ON LOCKDOWN. DESTINY REPAIR TEAMS STANDBY FOR EMERGENCY DEPLOYMENT. THIS IS NOT A DRILL!"

He breathed deeply to steady himself only to gag at the brimstone-laced fumes he inhaled. He shook his head – moments before, the air had been sweet and pure, with a hint of flowers and grass – and he wished desperately that he could cast a Bubblehead Charm right now …

And froze, as a new 'announcement' boomed from unseen speakers: "SECURITY – IDENTIFY AND ISOLATE ONE ALBUS DUMBLEDORE! REPEAT – SECURITY, IDENTIFY AND **ISOLATE** ALBUS DUMBLEDORE!"

"Scheiße!" he breathed – "What in HELL is going on?" His eyes bulged as a steely claw closed around his throat and between his legs and for the second (or was it third?) time, he was flying … only this time he found himself sliding across the slimy, slippery deck of the barge, inadvertently cleaning out quite a bit of the thing as he slid over the wooden flooring.

He rolled on his back and stared up at a sky now obscured by low, dark clouds. He felt the boat rocking as someone (probably the woman) jumped abroad … some further rocking and he sensed motion, finally he sat up to see the woman, shoulders bulging as she used a long, thin pole to push them away from the shore …

A single thought broke through his muddled mind: "Yep, we ain't in Kansas anymore."


	2. Chapter 2 Valhalla

**Disclaimer:** As stated before, I don't own Harry Potter or any of the other characters that may be recognizable from books, movies or television. Those characters are the property of their respective creators and are being used here with no intention of any monetary gain or profit motive. I'm doing this for fun and would like to express my thanks and appreciation for their creativity which has made fanfic a totally awesome and wonderful place.

**Author's Notes**: Thank you to everyone who alerted, favorite'd and reviewed the first chapter of this tale. Your interest and comments have warmed my heart better than a glass of Glenfiddich and are much appreciated.

A brief reply to some reviews ...

**Undermann**: About "Deutsche-Dumbledore" ... my bad. One of the first ten or fifteen 'first drafts' of this tale had him meeting Grindelwald rather than Charon or the current 'Ferryperson' and brought my thoughts to various fanfics which had Grindelwald's being a part of Hitler's Third Reich, which led me to thinking that Dumbledore and Grindelwald would - in their youth - be conversing in German. Seems that I forgot to edit this part out ...

**Grenouille7777**: Nice to know you're still around! And *when* will we get an update to "More Than Familiar"? *winks*

**Kitty279**: It took me a bit to understand what MOB meant. *grins* I do hope you will like where he is headed for ... although it will take a bit of time to get there.

And with that ... on with the show.

Chapter Two. Valhalla …

Albus Dumbledore was fuming.

He was completely out of sorts – bad enough that he was in a place he totally was unprepared for, bad enough that his throat and gonads hurt from being clawed _twice_ but to be caught in some crisis or emergency which he knew nothing about – and his _name_ associated with whatever it was!

Add to that the fact that he was _imprisoned_ on a derelict, dingy barge in the middle of the Styx, held incommunicado by a silent, brooding, unresponsive woman who was staring at the riverbank with worried eyes.

The only 'good' thing, as far as Dumbledore was concerned, was that someone had shut off the sirens and that discordant, strident 'announcer' had fallen silent. There was also the fact that fog had rolled in – reducing the brimstone that he'd inhaled earlier but, it seemed to have hidden the barge from those on the riverbank.

A flash of light and he started – gasped as a whimpered "no" escaped his lips.

A young woman with dishevelled, bushy brown hair in bloodied Gryffindor robes appeared on the riverbank, wiping a bloody face with one hand while the other gripped her wand. She looked around in shock, turning rapidly from side to side in apparent disorientation before she slumped to the ground, her shoulders shaking as she shook her head in clear denial of her situation …

"Do you know that young lady?"

Dumbledore nodded, throat tight as he croaked, "Hermione Granger … brilliant witch, top of her class … intelligent enough for Ravenclaw but with the courage to be sorted Gryffindor. She's also the best friend, one of them at least, of Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived."

He could feel the woman's stare, waiting for clarification but he couldn't respond … his mind was completely engaged in trying to understand **how** and **why** in the name of Merlin's hairy balls, Hermione Granger was _here_. Severus was supposed to PROTECT her – stun her, distract her, lock her up in the dungeons …

She was a key component of THE PLAN and if she were here … He shut his eyes tightly as his stomach lurched, wild thoughts rampaging through his mind …

How will Harry get THE BOOK? How will Harry learn about the Hallows … understand what was hidden in the snitch he bequeathed to the boy … realize that he had to die to release Riddle's abomination before he could finish him off?

His thoughts were distracted by his agitated companion stomping the deck, accompanied by brief snatches of unsettled words: "Destiny Repair … why declare Valhalla …" Frowning, he watched as she jabbed at a silver ornament on her chest, mumbling, "Come on, come on … lousy communicator! What are they doing, sleeping on the job? Come on …"

She paused as more flashes appeared – and Dumbledore blinked at the sight of a headless George Weasley, his severed head held like a Quaffle under one arm, and Alastair 'Mad-Eye' Moody in a combat stance scanning his surroundings from a single eye – an empty socket where his magical eye should be.

Dumbledore flinched as Hermione, who'd looked up at their arrival, screamed and scrabbled away from the pair – stopping only when, with a cheeky grin, George placed his head on his neck before holding out his hand to her.

A brief flash and a white blur streaked down, screeching loudly, Hermione looked up and held out her arm to the diving blur. A quick flap of wings and Hedwig, Harry's snowy owl, landed on her arm, to be engulfed in a gentle hug from the teen.

"What in Artemis' name is going on?" The woman's distressed whisper was met by more flashes: Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour in their wedding finery, with Fleur's sister Gabrielle in her bridesmaid's attire … Amos Diggory and his wife … Rufus Scrimgeour, shaking his leonine head in confusion … all of them with blood-splattered clothes or mangled limbs …

It seemed as if their arrival triggered a flood – a continuous stream of flashes signalled the arrival of more and more people and Dumbledore could only gape as he recognized them: Arthur and Charlie Weasley with Professors McGonagall and Flitwick, the latter with an empty sleeve flapping in the breeze, the four seemingly guarding two people in muggle clothing who were tackled by Hermione Granger …

"Hermione's parents? They're muggles!" He glared accusingly at the quiet woman standing beside him. "I thought you said this was _Magical_ Hades –"

"Love is a magic of its own, Dumbledork," was the cold reply backed by Arctic-blue eyes. "Besides, didn't you get the memo? THIS –" the woman gestured towards the shore – "is no longer HADES."

Dumbledore gulped once, twice, before forcing the word through his lips. "Valhalla?"

The icy-cold eyes held him for a long moment before she turned away, leaving Dumbledore gaping.

'_Valhalla_,' he thought. '_The Hall of Heroes where champions chosen or favoured by the gods were escorted, to be feted and honoured …_'

He looked up to see Hestia Jones and Kingsley Shacklebolt arrive with Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot in tow, followed shortly by the dreadlocked Lee Jordan and the ladies of the Gryffindor Quidditch team; Pomona Sprout, Professors Vector, Sinistra and Babbling with a crowd of Hogwarts students from all houses and ages; an obviously pregnant Nymphadora Tonks with her parents, a large cat with a squashed-in face in her arms. The cat quickly leaped into the open arms of Hermione before the latter wrapped Tonks in a bear hug.

Dumbledore closed his eyes tightly, biting down hard on his lip as the full impact of where he was and what he was seeing struck like a Bludger on his chest, driving the air from his lungs.

"Casualties," he whispered to himself. "Fallen fighters of the Light against the scourge that is Voldemort and his Death Eaters."

He bowed his head in grief – he'd known that the Light would suffer losses but he hadn't anticipated so many! He couldn't help but wonder if his death had triggered a rampage – hearing a scream, he looked up in time to see Ginny, Fred and Ron Weasley arrive: Fred mobbed by his twin and the Gryffindors; Arthur, Bill and Charlie in a many armed hug with Ginny; a visibly raging Hermione Granger slapping Ron …

Dumbledore felt faint – what had Ronald done to elicit such a reaction from Hermione? Unless Granger had gone mental at the thought of Harry being left behind? He snorted softly – '_Idiot!'_ he thought. '_So what if Harry was left behind … for as long as he lives, there is hope for the Light …_'

He blinked as a loud, resounding cheer erupted from the crowd – one look and he was jumping up and down, fists pumping in the air, the barge rocking erratically as he let out a whoop of such joy that his companion had to clamp her hands to her ears –

Harry Potter had arrived – dishevelled hair, twisted glasses, dirt- and blood-stained clothes, Remus Lupin and Molly Weasley behind him. The sad, haunted expression on the young hero's face morphed into a wide smile as he caught sight of the brown-haired missile heading his way –

He frowned as he watched Harry catch her in mid-leap as a snowy owl looped and dived, barking in excitement; around their ankles, a flat-faced half-kneazle wound his way between and around their legs. Behind them, Remus and Molly were being hugged, kissed, embraced, pounded on the back by family and friends …

'_That wouldn't do!_' Dumbledore thought; '_Harry has to go back – he has to finish Voldemort off, it was his destiny!_'

He turned to his companion, his words coming so fast that he was near-stuttering: "I need to go there … I need to talk with Harry, quickly! He has got to go back – he's finally rid himself of Riddle's horcrux and he now has a chance! He has to go back … PLEASE – I NEED TO TALK TO HIM!"

He ignored the narrow-eyed, speculative look the woman gave him as he silently ran through his speech, his inflections, the tone of his voice … he'd hug the boy first, tell him how proud he was of him, inform Harry of the Hallows and how he _must_ go back to finish Voldemort off – that Harry's destiny was to destroy Riddle so that the magical world could continue in peace…

He was so engrossed in his thoughts and plans that he didn't realize the crowd on the riverbank had fallen silent as they watched a shimmering aura like spun gold weaving between and within Harry and Hermione.

It was the sarcastic, coldly angry voice of his companion which cut through his fevered thoughts: "What do you mean he's going back, Bumbledork? He's dead!"

He whirled, blue eyes blazing as he replied, "He can't be dead! The prophecy said he is the only one who can defeat Voldemort!"

"Dead is dead, old man. The only way he can go back now is as a ghost – IF he wants to go back."

Dumbledore smirked, a superior grin on his face as he educated the clueless woman: "He's NOT dead! The Killing Curse separates the soul from the body – cast on him it will only release the accidental horcrux that Voldemort created when he tried to kill Harry in 1981.

"Harry has to go back and finish Voldemort. It's his destiny!

"I need to go there – I need to talk to him, convince him to go back – remind him of his destiny as the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One prophesied to finally defeat the Dark – urk!"

Steel-like fingers grabbed his robes at the throat and he was dragged to the barge's railings as the woman whispered harshly: "Kind of hard for The Chosen One to come back when he doesn't have _any BODY _to go back to, innit?"

Dumbledore struggled to get free from the madwoman's grip – and gaped as he caught sight of a horrific sight: Hermione had opened Harry's bloody shirt, revealing a cavernous hole where his chest would be.

The woman continued, "Looks like he's been run through with a sword or a pike …"

"Wizards don't use sw–" His angry retort was stopped as she cut in: "But goblins do."

He slumped to the deck as his mind raced: a Horcrux in Gringotts where the prominent Death Eaters like Malfoy, Lestrange, Parkinson, Nott had vaults … Harry must have learned of one, tried to get in to destroy it but with Bill here, he had no one to advise him … and suffered for his ignorance.

Dumbledore's chest tightened. Harry was dead – cut down by goblin pike or sword, probably with his head staked out on the front of the bank. The Killing Curse would have removed Voldemort's soul fragment, leaving Harry's body and soul untouched – but the mortal wound meant that Harry's body, soul and horcrux were gone.

A faint, chirping sound erupted from the woman's chest but Dumbledore ignored it; he didn't notice his companion turn away as she breathed, "Finally!" to herself. All he could hear was the sound of wind in his ears; all he could see was the ragged, cavernous wound on Harry's chest –

The hands gripping the railing started shaking as his mind processed the sight and he knew – his grand plan had failed. All because of a reckless bint who had more courage than brains … Granger should have gone to Ravenclaw, he thought … he shouldn't have entrusted her with the book, shouldn't have made her part of his PLAN, should have tried to separate her from Harry …

He threw back his head and SCREAMED – a loud, wailing, indecipherable wail of sheer pain and wretched frustration which tore through the landscape, deepening the aching hurt of those on shore even as they looked around in fear, confused as to the source of that painful wail.

No one could see the fog-shrouded barge in the middle of the river where a despondent Dumbledore sat, gnarled hands over his face as sobs escaped his throat, drowning out a peculiar humming nearby; he didn't see blue and silver sparkles forming; didn't feel the sudden rocking as three forms materialized on the deck.

A squat, barrel-chested man with clearly powerful arms and legs, wrapped in greasy, slimy cloths appeared. He was bearded, had bushy eyebrows and wild, metallic grey hair which surrounded sharp, dark eyes which flicked around the deck the moment his form solidified.

On either side stood a young woman wearing sleeveless fur vests, leather pants and knee-high boots of fur, arms sporting intricate tattoos, short swords hanging from belts, staves in one hand.

The barrel-chested man took one look at a still-sobbing Dumbledore, and cocked an inquiring eyebrow at the tall woman on the deck as he asked, "Wot's with the beard?"

The formidable woman cracked a smile. "He's had a bad day, Charon." As the squat man nodded, she turned to his companions and barked, "REPORT!"

Both young women saluted her with a fist to their chests. The one on the right spoke, "Captain Janeway's complements, Consort. The Queen asked for some help in locating you and uhmm …" Her eyes flicked to Dumbledore, who was staring at them. "… _him_. They'll handle transport to the Queen's location."

The woman nodded. She _should_ have told her partner where she was headed but … She'd gone exploring when things got boring at the office. She'd wandered over here – she hadn't seen Charon in such a _long_ time, had taken pity on the old guy and allowed him to take a break – How in Hades was she to know that a Valhalla Emergency would be declared?

She shook the thought off and composed herself. A slight tilt of her head and the two Amazons lifted a confused Dumbledore to his feet, their hands clamped on his elbows on either side. A final nod to Charon and she tapped the silver ornament on her chest, "Voyager, this is Xena. Four to beam up."

A tinny, female voice erupted from the ornament: "Roger, Xe. You'll be transported to Project Tic-Toc. Gabrielle will meet you there."

Xena's eyebrows rose; before she could say a word, she, Dumbledore and his Amazon guards were engulfed by silvery-blue sparkles as a strange humming filled the air before blinking out, leaving Charon alone, staring at the shore, wondering how in hell he was going to move that crowd across the river.


	3. Chapter 3 Project TicToc

**The usual: **Don't own Harry, would love to have Hermione, and the jury's still out on Ron. Am not doing this for money, only for fun and enjoyment. Also don't own any of the characters or locations that may be familiar and already owned by others.

**Author's Note**: Thank you for those who reviewed, as well as those who have placed this on their alerts and favorites lists. It is much, much appreciated.

**witowsmp**: I am truly, truly honoured that you've found this tale worth your while. As for the ST reference ... I agree. There actually is a reason for that (and a whole sub-plot behind it) but the rest got scrapped when I realized that it was just adding to the story without really moving it forward. Suffice to say that I needed a means to move some characters around quickly and since this 'afterlife' is the product of my fevered imagination ... ;-)

I started this fic hoping for humour and parody but have to admit that, like the state of nirvana, those are genres that I can only strive to attain at some point in time, not right now.

**grenouille777:** I was planning to include Seven of Nine and T'Pol (in the now-discarded draft when Dumbledore meets Grindelwald with the thought of the latter drooling over Seven - who always comes across to me as a role model for Aryan perfection) but, as I mentioned to witowsmp, it didn't move the story forward.

As for our wayward muses ... :sigh: I hear you, man, I hear you.

And so ...

Chapter Three. Project Tic-Toc

Albus Dumbledore was shocked.

He was no stranger to travelling – magical or mundane, he'd done them all: the sucked through a tube sensation of apparition, the tug-behind-the-navel shock of portkeys, the dizzying disorientation of floo travel, the discomfort of the Tube at rush hour, the extended trips on the Hogwarts Express, the initial ear-popping discomfort as the airplane gains altitude …

This was something completely different.

One moment he was **there**; the next moment he was _here_; and the only transition he could remember was that brief – he couldn't even be sure of _that_ – moment when it felt that he was being dissolved into nothingness before being reassembled again …

Unfortunately for him, shock and awe were not limited to his mind and thoughts. The moment he solidified, he was bent over, breathing deeply of the surprisingly cold, clean air as he tried to fight off the vertigo assaulting his body. As the darkness faded from his vision, he blinked.

His first clear view was the floor – for a moment, he wondered if they'd landed in the middle of a runic circle and he quailed at the thought of disrupting some ritual or ceremony.

He quickly dismissed the thought – the floor and the design that he was looking at was too clean, too precise – too _simple_ for that. He tried to make sense of the design that he was standing on – all gold and black against the white floor …

And mentally slapped himself when he realized that he was looking at a huge, stylized rendition of a time turner – a golden hourglass, superimposed on a black rectangle that was, in turn, surrounded by a golden circle with a black border.

He shook his head, wondering where in Hades the she-devil had brought him – lifted his eyes and gaped.

He was in an enormous chamber, dominated by the huge, cavernous mouth of a … Tunnel? It _looked_ like a tunnel – four times the height of a man, easily the width of ten or more people standing with arms stretched to either side.

But this couldn't be a tunnel, he thought. It looked more like the horn on top of a gramophone that had been all the rage before the Wizarding Wireless – but this was a thousand times larger, with alternating bands of white and black starting from its colossal mouth to its narrowed end.

He could also see two silver-grey, metallic half-rings suspended in mid-air inside the thing – one on each side. For a brief, incongruous moment, he thought of fingers framing a scene – and blinked, for that was _exactly_ what they looked like: elliptical frames that focused one's attention on the thing's centre – and his heart leaped when the air between the 'frame' shimmered and he was looking at a site that would have made any British magical nostalgic, even that poor excuse for a wizard Tom Riddle aka Voldemort.

It was Hogwarts by night: massive, ethereal, beautiful – festooned with lights from its numerous windows, the towers shimmering in the moonlight, the waters of the lake glittering in starlight. It brought back his first memories of the castle, seeing it as a firstie while crossing the lake …

He snapped out of his reverie when he sensed movement – and stood there blinking in wonder.

Directly ahead of him and in front of the thing's 'mouth' were three … he wasn't sure what to call the 'furniture' he saw. They looked like a cross between a desk and a cabinet except they had sloping boxes on top with a bewildering array of flickering lights, buttons, levers and switches, nothing he ever saw before or could even associate with. Glancing around, he could see numerous 'cabinets' with similar arrays of bewildering, multi-coloured lights, buttons, switches and levers as well as glass picture frames with indecipherable pictures, geometric shapes or cascading numbers dancing across the face …

Past the cabinets on the right side was another huge structure, standing like a skeletal building, festooned again with an incomprehensible array of lights dancing all over. Beyond that was darkness – black, infinite, reinforcing his earlier thought that he was in a huge cavern of which he could see only a small part.

He noticed four people in front of him, clustered around the light-swathed 'desks'. Two were seated at the centre desk or table – a tall, slim woman with midnight black hair in a bouffant hairdo; the other a stocky man with an apparently balding head of grey hair. Both wore what appeared to be white robes – he shook his head as he recognized them as something the muggles called 'lab coats.' Both were busy flicking levers, pressing buttons, pushing things up or down, an intense look of concentration on their faces.

The other two stood behind them, talking in low tones. One was a silver-haired gentleman in a muggle uniform that he remembered well from decades past – a military uniform much favoured by the Americans who'd infested Britain during the last Great Muggle War, some of whom he'd worked with in the effort to defeat Grindelwald.

There was no doubt in his mind that the man was a high-ranking soldier, and someone used to command. To Dumbledore's confusion, however, the soldier seemed to defer to the woman beside him – a slim, short blonde with tousled hair, wearing what looked, at first glance, to be two strips of leather and floppy boots. She was in a short, cut-off top and a brown, knee-length skirt with an embroidered belt and high, leather boots – the whole ensemble showing an enticing amount of skin which left him cold – the temperature in the place was as cold as he had ever felt in the draughty halls of Hogwarts in winter.

The blonde's head jerked up, as if she'd felt his eyes on her and he felt himself impaled by the sea-green eyes which had locked unerringly on his, and he unconsciously braced himself –

"ALBUS PERCIVAL WULFRIC BRIAN DUMBLEDORE!

"Are you certifiably _insane_, institutionally _senile_ or simply too full of _yourself_ to be unable to pull your arse off your head – AND DO WHAT IS **RIGHT** RATHER THAN WHAT **YOU** THINK IS RIGHT?"

He heard snickering behind him and knew that Xena the She-Devil was taking great pleasure in this. The two in lab coats and the gentleman in uniform glanced curiously at him but he didn't miss the amusement in their eyes or the tic in the corner of their mouths.

And that angered him – who was this little pipsqueak of a girl to tell _him_ off like some errant schoolboy? He was Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin First Class, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the British Magical Parliament, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry –

Who was she – who were _they_ to treat him this way?

In the coldest, most formal voice he could muster, he replied, "I do not believe I have had the pleasure?"

The blonde's eyes narrowed and darkened; Dumbledore felt the two guards at his side as well as the she-devil behind him tense at his words, but he stared back, his very mien indicating how insignificant she was to him.

She was gearing up to respond when the uniformed gentleman's worried voice stopped her: "My Lady – Gabrielle – it's starting."

The blonde maintained her impressive glare on Dumbledore for a second before turning back to the group by the desk, Xena quickly approaching her – and Dumbledore grinned at the victory.

Only to pale when he looked up at the scene playing out on the huge 'frame' within the tunnel's mouth.


	4. Chapter 4 Gotterdammerung

**Standard Disclaimer: **Don't own nuthin', not earning anythin' from this.

**Author's Note**: This could very well form part of Chapter 3 but I felt that it works better this way.

Enjoy (I hope) ...

Chapter Four. Gotterdammerung

Albus Dumbledore was pale – paler even than if a vampire had drained him of blood. And he was feeling deprived of all bones – it was only the fortuitous presence of a nearby chair that he'd grabbed that kept him standing.

A swarm of cylindrical objects trailing smoke appeared in the 'frame' within the 'tunnel'. For the briefest of moments, his mind's eye brought back the image of German buzz bombs from the 1940s, the memory doubtless triggered by the silver-haired gentleman in the military uniform. These objects, however, were not the crude things he remembered … they were sleeker, thinner, moving faster than he could remember …

And they were headed for Hogwarts.

'The wards!' he thought. He opened his mouth to scream but it was too late – the _things_ exploded in mid-air, creating a maelstrom of sparks and lightning, outlining a golden dome surrounding the castle.

'YES!' he screamed in his mind as the scene cleared and he fought the urge to jump up and pump his fist in victory. 'The wards are holding –'

Alas, poor Dumbledore – he'd spoken too soon. A second wave of the flying objects struck the wards and he gaped in horror as the golden dome blinked and disappeared, in time for a third, a fourth and even a fifth wave of the flying things fly straight through and strike the castle.

He staggered as his guards released him, allowing him to grab the back of a nearby chair as he watched the objects striking the castle walls –puffs of dust, followed a moment later by huge gouts of flame, followed by more and more explosions and he had to turn away, unwilling to think of the place he'd called home for most of his life turned into a smoking hole.

"Shifting locations," a woman's voice said and Dumbledore had to look – glad, for the moment that he didn't have to watch the destruction of his castle – only to stare in wide-mouthed horror.

It was the street containing several shabby offices, a pub and an overflowing dumpster that he knew stood over the underground space occupied by the Ministry of Magic – he spotted the old red telephone box that was the disguised visitor's entrance.

The scene seemed to shimmer and Dumbledore whimpered as the whole block collapsed on itself, obscuring the scene as clouds of dust rose.

"Tactical nuke," the silver-haired, uniformed gentleman said in a detached, professional tone. "They must have placed it at the lowest level, hoping to use the wards and depth to contain the radiation."

"How did they bring it in?" Another voice – Xena, Dumbledore thought – asked. The uniformed gentleman shrugged. "Magical assets, probably. It's not as if there'd be any shortage of volunteers, given how Valhalla has been taking place."

Dumbledore shook his head violently, trying to force the horrific image and the detached commentary from his mind – well aware of the wizards and witches who worked or visited the Ministry daily. His eyes narrowed, however, as the possibility of magical infiltrators was raised.

Before he could turn the thought over, however, he froze again as the scene shifted – and realized why there were all too few Death Eaters arriving earlier on the banks of the River Styx.

He'd been surprised to see the Crabbes, Goyles and Flints arrive some distance from the others – separate from the area designated as Valhalla, he realized. But there'd been so few compared to the casualties from the light side … And he realized it was because there were too few of them who'd died or been killed.

It would seem, however, that HADES was due for another major influx of souls as he watched Diagon Alley in flames, black-robed, white-masked figures running in panic. Some were standing fast and casting spells, including the green light of the Avada Kedavra, only for the curses to shatter or bounce against the metal shields held by a phalanx of insect-like men with rounded helmets, dark goggles and bulky torsos.

These men were already in the middle of the Alley and marching inexorably forward. Behind the front ranks were many more – some with bulky tanks on their backs, hoses connected to pipes in their hands which spewed flames like dragon's breath; others had rifles in their hands, the muzzles spouting flame as shiny bits of metal flew.

People were dying – death eaters in their black robes, ordinary wizards, witches and families in their everyday robes, hags in their rags … The only structure not burning was Gringotts which was surrounded by the same golden glow that Hogwarts had before it was blown apart. Dumbledore watched in horror as people beat on the translucent shield – only for bloody holes to appear on their backs as the dark-clad soldiers shot them down …

Dumbledore's hands were digging into the chair he was using as support. There was no escape from the Alley, he knew – anti-portkey and anti-apparition wards were emplaced to stop thieves and other criminals from easily escaping. With the Ministry destroyed, floo travel was also out – the magicals in the alley were effectively trapped. Others could portkey or apparate in – but they would be slaughtered as they arrived.

He didn't hear the oddly detached voice of the soldier as he reported, "They've taken down St Mungo's like they did the MoM. We're also monitoring simultaneous assaults across Britain – isolated locations for the most part. Houses, manors and the like … they're not taking prisoners."

The blonde woman nodded. "Anywhere else?"

The soldier shook his head. "It seems to be confined to Britain; we're getting reports that the other countries have closed their borders to magical travel."

Dumbledore remembered what happened earlier and understood: Valhalla, the ancient Norse Hall of Heroes, where champions chosen by the gods are brought by the Valkyries, to be feted and honoured … Valhalla Emergency, as HADES scrambled to accommodate the wizards and witches of the Light, gathering them on the banks of the Styx where they were joined by Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, his primary and – as it turned out – his _only_ weapon against Riddle …

But Valhalla was only the prelude to the main event – _Ragnarok_ in ancient Norse, more popularly known as _Gotterdammerung_ – The Twilight of the Gods …

He glanced at the 'frame' in the tunnel and shivered.

He could only guess at what transpired but he could imagine how: with him dead, Voldemort would have moved swiftly to take over Magical Britain … with Harry dead, Tom Riddle would have no compunction about taking over the muggle world. There was no way that Tom in his megalomania would go for the subtle and slow route of subversion – he'd make his move openly, blatantly, convinced of the power of his Death Eaters and allies – giants, vampires, dementors, trolls …

And the muggles would fight back – they may have no magic of their own but their machinery and efficiency in meting out death and destruction was unsurpassed. Threatened by something or someone they did not fully understand, their reaction would be to kill and burn everyone out, resulting in an unending spiral of terror and death as the threatened magicals _also _fought back …

His brain locked on something said earlier and he nodded to himself. Too many wizards of Light had fallen – but there were many he didn't see … Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, the muggle-raised Dean Thomas, the Irish Seamus Finnegan … some may have fled before the purge but there would be those, especially the Lions of Gryffindor, who would willingly go over to the muggles for assistance in wiping out the Dark …

And maybe even allow themselves to be immolated rather than live with the stain of so much blood on their hands – Death Eater, collaborator, innocent …

He was jerked out of his thoughts when he felt himself pushed back as an angry voice near-screamed: "You ask who I am?"

Shaking his head, he focused on the small blonde who was standing with fists on hips, blazing green eyes piercing him as she continued, "My name is Gabrielle of Potidaea – Chief Executive Officer of Destiny Repair, the entity formerly known as Second Chances Incorporated.

"Which means I AM THE ONE WHO HAS TO CLEAN UP YOUR MESS!

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

Albus Dumbledore stared at her for a long moment, a thousand thoughts running through his mind before he looked away.

There was no way that he would allow the horrific scenes that he'd seen to play out. He would find a way to get back, correct his mistakes, starting with finding someone _else_ to bequeath his copy of the Tales of Beedle the Bard to, someone just as intelligent as Miss Granger, but less reckless and a higher sense of self-preservation … Ginny Weasley, perhaps. She and Harry had formed a relationship late last year and she was already besotted with the boy …

With a visible effort he stood tall, proud and determined as he turned and met Gabrielle of Potidaea's eyes squarely.

"Yes, I do. When do I go back?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Return to Sender**

**Standard Disclaimer**: Don't own nuthin' except this 'puter and the car ... and the bank disputes that!

Just a brief note: For those who follow **muggledad's** "The Last Casualties" (which was posted today) and **chemprof**, whose latest opus "Seriously, Sirius?" was posted last Sunday ... I was using the same line in early drafts. Must mean that great minds think alike. :-) I think.

Without further ado ...

**Chapter Five. Second Chances?**

Albus Dumbledore was concerned.

He'd expected his announcement to be met with cheers, commendations, backslaps and handshakes – not the looks of sheer incredulity from the people around him.

It was Xena who broke the silence: "May I ask, Bumbledork, what makes you think you are going back?"

It was his turn to sport a look of sheer disbelief and he blurted, "Surely you're joking …"

"I'm certainly NOT joking, Fumbledore – and DON'T CALL ME SHIRLEY!"

He raised an eyebrow as he asked, "And you are?"

He cringed the moment the words escaped his lips, something Gabrielle said earlier giving him a mental punch to the gut as a visibly enraged woman gritted out, "Xena of Amphipholis, Gabrielle's partner and life-mate – currently Destiny Repair's Director of Operations.

"And I ask again – WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING BACK?"

Dumbledore fought for control. The none-too-subtle emphasis on the word 'partner' established the pecking order here – it would be too risky to his plans to antagonize her. She may be under the small blonde – he shuddered at _that_ image – but her title gave her wide influence in any decisions.

He opted for a tactical retreat. Bowing, he said, "Of course. My apologies."

"Cut the bull–"

He watched with keen interest as Gabrielle stopped the taller woman's rant with a simple gesture. 'Interesting,' he thought. 'She may be a power here but the final decision rests with Gabrielle … this should be easy.'

He glanced towards the tunnel and its scenes of destruction before turning back to face the two women, struck by the disparity in their heights and features but deciding to focus on the smaller but arguably more authoritative blonde.

"There is a prophecy which states that young Harry will be the one to defeat Voldemort. Given that I last saw him in HADES, it would seem that he failed … apparently because I was unable to anticipate all contingencies particularly the untimely demise of Miss Granger, who I'd given a task obviously beyond her."

He sighed dramatically. "It is my **mission** to prepare Harry for his destiny. It is a **burden** I have shouldered since before his birth when the prophecy was given to me. It is my **intent** to ensure that young Harry is properly guided, that he be provided with the tools he needs to complete his mission.

"As such I, Albus Dumbledore, am the best and most obvious person to go back and set things right."

He gave his audience a slightly embarrassed smile. "You mentioned that this … 'entity' is named Destiny Repair but formerly carried the title of Second Chances?"

At Gabrielle's nod, he continued, "Isn't that what I am being granted? A second chance to fix or mend young Harry's destiny? I am prepared for the challenge … I am ready for the burden.

"Shall we get on with it then?"

He gave them a beatific smile, ignoring the bemused look that everyone was giving him. As he looked around, his mind was assaulted by memories long forgotten or, more accurately, long buried – something that he'd 'lifted' from a muggleborn's mind decades ago.

Something about a tunnel … and time travel … the muggleborn had been laughing his head off (which was why he'd taken notice in the first place), loudly comparing the imagination and creativity of the muggles to the straightforward approach that the magical world took …

"Un-be-live-able."

The drawn-out word snapped Dumbledore out of his musing. As expected, it was Xena the She-Devil who'd spoken, "I haven't seen that much horse shit since Hercules asked me to help him clean the stables …"

Turning to Dumbledore, she continued, "You haven't answered Gabrielle's question, old man. The one where she asked whether you're certifiably insane, institutionally senile or simply too full of yourself to realize that you've got your head so far up your arse that it's a wonder you could breath."

She ignored his angry glare and addressed her partner: "It's your call, Gabrielle – I have better things to do."

With that, she joined the others at the desks with the blinking lights, engaging them in conversation which soon enough seemed to become a technical discussion about the blinking lights, levers and buttons. Dumbledore frowned as the tunnel's frame shimmered before the scene of destruction where it stopped began rewinding …

With a silent huff, Dumbledore turned to the young blond who was studying him with a still-bemused expression. Before he could say a word, she spoke. "What my partner is asking, Mr Dumbledore, is WHY should we send you back when you all but admitted that it's YOU who caused the problem in the first place?"

She held up his hand, stopping his protest. "Please, Mr Dumbledore – don't take us for fools. You've been orchestrating events all this time – the wonder of it all is that no one seems to have caught on to you before!"

She stopped and shook her head. "No," she said, "it isn't that no one has caught on to you. The truth is that the previous management – the people running Second Chances – bought into your grand plan of turning a young man with no real discernible talents or skills, save for an amazing amount of courage and determination, into an icon for your world!"

"They probably were getting off on using Harry Potter as Fate's bitch," Xena commented from where she sat. She looked up and saw the glare Gabrielle sent her way and she quickly turned back to her task as she apologized, "Sorry, love, just reviewing the files …"

Gabrielle nodded before turning back to the fuming Dumbledore. "Let's face facts, Mr Dumbledore. You've been orchestrating events from the beginning – from the day you left a baby on the Dursley's doorstep, ignoring the protests of your Deputy who _told_ you that they were – what was it she said? – 'the worst sort of muggles that she'd seen' –"

"She didn't say that!" Dumbledore protested heatedly. "What she said was that they were not like us … and in the end she acceded to my views. She saw my point – that it was best that Harry grow up away from his fame, where it would go to his head –"

"And you did such a _great_ job of it, didn't you?" There was no mistaking the sarcasm in Gabrielle's voice. "You kept him away from the fame – but the moment he steps back into your world, he's mobbed by people who knows who he is, learns that his name is in books for something that he doesn't even remember – and later on told that he is the only one who can defeat a homicidal maniac who's killed more people than he has socks, who's been using magic and the blackest of arts for longer than he has been ALIVE and then, to cap it all, you give him a MISSION that he hasn't been TRAINED FOR while telling him he cannot trust anyone but his SCHOOLMATES – against KILLERS and TORTURERS who've been doing it for longer than they've been ALIVE …

"WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?"

"It was for the Greater Good –" he mumbled – and found himself stepping back from the incandescent rage of an angry blond as she roared, "YOU WOULDN'T KNOW THE GREATER GOOD IF IT BIT YOU ON YOUR BONY ARSE, OLD MAN!"

She turned to the tunnel's 'screen' which had reverted to the earlier scenes of the utter destruction of the magical world – Hogwarts, now a pile of rubble suspiciously like the false image created by the muggle-repelling wards; the Ministry of Magic, now nothing more than a hole in the ground in the middle of London; Diagon Alley, still burning as teams of men went from body to body, systematically checking for signs of life – and shooting each one in the head to make sure; St Mungo's, another hole in the ground …

"IS THAT YOUR 'GREATER GOOD', OLD MAN? Magical Britain decimated, sixty **thousand** magical men, women and **children dead** – far too many of them before their time – a hundred **thousand** non-magicals killed before the Government realized who was doing it … and all because Albus Bloody Dumbledore thought that it was all for THE GREATER GOOD!"

Dumbledore flinched at the sheer purity of the vitriol thrown his way – but stood steadfast against the abuse. There was nothing he could do – there was no escaping the truth in Gabrielle's words. _He_ had failed – there was no one else to blame. It had been _his_ plan from the beginning and _he_ had been the composer and conductor of the greatest tragedy since Wagner created the Nibelungeid.

"And you have the NERVE to say that you DESERVE the chance to go back and FIX THINGS? I'm of a mind to have you replace Charon – maybe taking souls across the Styx for the next thousand YEARS will be enough to teach you what the 'greater good' really means!"

It was too much for Dumbledore – Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, Headmaster, Order of Merlin First Class, Defeater of Gridelwald and Voldemort … He turned away from those angry, accusing eyes as he tried to control himself.

Why pin the blame on HIM when it was GRANGER's FAULT? All right – maybe it was SNAPE's fault. He'd given the man a simple task – but he failed, and Granger was killed … which removed the Golden Trio's brains, which was what led directly to this fiasco!

He wasn't asking for too much, was he? All he needed was to go back to a time when he could make the necessary changes in his will … make sure that the Tales would go to someone more worthy and less reckless than Granger …

He glanced at the blonde who kept staring at him with accusing eyes and dismissed his earlier thought of trying to convince her to let him go. He glanced at Xena and saw that she was still focused on her console – a glance at the tunnel and he paused.

It was now focused on a 'normal' house in a 'normal' neighbourhood – a house and a neighbourhood he'd last visited a year ago, when he'd asked for Harry's help in bringing Slughorn back to the castle. It was the point where things started falling apart – when he'd decided to tell Harry everything he'd learned of the horcruxes, when he'd started putting his affairs in order – and formulated his ultimate plan, the plan derailed when he trusted Granger with the book …

He knew what he had to do.

He took a deep breath. The rush of pure, clean air into his lungs energized and cleared his head …

They were wrong. They didn't understand – how could they understand? They didn't have his decades of experience. They didn't have his _years_ of fighting for the greater good on so many fronts. Who did they think they were to make pronouncements on his decisions when they haven't even gone through _half_ of what he went through?

Who were they to question him?

They wouldn't listen anyway.

All he needed was a chance to set things right … and He MOVED.

Grabbing Gabrielle by the shoulders, he spun her around and pushed her into her Amazon guards, grinning ferally as he watched them falling to the floor in a tangle of limbs

With a speed that belied his advanced age, he was sprinting for the mouth of the tunnel and he took a running leap – found himself caught in mid-leap before he was flying again – but this time, he wasn't surprised at the sensation of being _pushed_ through a thin narrow tube, hurtling at unbelievable speeds towards his destiny …

Albus Dumbledore had left the building.


	6. Chapter 6  Conversations in After Life

**Return to Sender**

**Standard Disclaimer**: Not mine, just playing in the sandbox constructed by JK Rowling and others.

**Author's Note**: A moment of silence for 9/11 and all the people lost on that day and the days after. Not to toot my own horn, but I would like to dedicate my story "In Flanders Field" to their memory.

And before I forget, I would like to acknowledge the inspiration provided by **Dunuelos** and his story "Harry Potter and Afterlife, Inc." (which is one the most brilliant stories out there) for some of the things that cropped up in this tale.

Without further ado ...

**Chapter Six. Conversations in the After Life**

Albus Dumbledore had left the building.

There was confusion and chaos as the Amazon guards disentangled themselves from their Queen; they were on their feet in time to watch, awed, as Dumbledore jumped into the tunnel – and was held in a brilliant glowing field like a fly trapped in amber before winking out, accompanied by a virtual cascade of eye-blinding sparks as the tunnel went dark.

At the consoles, the scientists and the general were gyrating from sparkling console to smoking panels even as people rushed in to man the boards and check gauges, shrill cries and sharp commands barked out as even more people came in with fire extinguishers –

"_QUIET!_"

Everyone froze – eyes turned cautiously, most blinking when they realized that it was the small blonde who'd issued the command. She was standing alone, arms on hips as she glared at the tunnel before she glanced at the uniformed gentleman who was standing at attention, facing her.

"General Kirk?"

"I'm sorry, Queen Gabrielle. Time travel was initiated."

"And HOW did that happen? I thought the tunnel was in visual mode only?"

"Gabrielle …" She turned and impaled her partner with her blazing green eyes and Xena actually stepped back at that implacable glare. "It was my fault."

Gabrielle's eyes narrowed to slits and the others watched Xena actually gulp in consternation. They couldn't believe it – the tall warrior's reputation had preceded her and most people in the facility knew to avoid her when she was in a mood …

"Explain."

"Uhm … I was curious, all right? I wanted to see how far we can go with this thing, so I asked Drs Swain and MacGregor to show me a … hem, hem, a **practical** demonstration."

The tall woman smirked. "I really wanted to take a look at us, you know? Back when you were a wide eyed babe in the woods, talking your way in and out of trouble … Hey!"

She jumped out of the way of a rolling chair sent her way by the smaller blonde and quickly continued, wary of other things heading her way. She may be hell on wheels with her chakram – but Gabrielle could send lethal projectiles her way just as efficiently and accurately.

"Anyway … the set-up here is mission-specific. The only timeline we can access is Harry's … and, well …"

"Queen Gabrielle." The small blonde turned her eyes to the female lead scientist, who gulped when the green eyes focused on her. "We encountered a, well, the best way to describe it is a temporal 'block' or 'lock'. We could only go to a certain point and couldn't get past it …"

"I ordered Drs MacGregor and Swain to get past it," Xena jumped in. "I authorized increasing power … we were reaching transportation values when Bumbledork decided to make his move."

She paused. "Sorry."

Gabrielle maintained her glare on her partner for a long moment before relenting. She took a deep breath even as she rubbed her face with her hands. She could understand her partner's curiosity – it had been one of Xena's many endearing traits (and one which, unfortunately, so few people in their time understood or appreciated) – she shook her head.

There was nothing she could do now – they had to try to get out of this mess, and quickly.

"All right," she said. "Where did the old goat get off to?"

Dr MacGregor glanced apprehensively at Xena before indicating a specific display. Gabrielle approached, glanced at it … and blinked. She looked up at the still-empty tunnel, shook her head and looked at the display again before turning an accusatory glare at her partner.

"You set him up."

Xena blinked and responded brightly. "Huh?"

"C'mon, Xena! You heard him – all he was on about was returning in time for him to change his will, to make sure that someone else aside from the Granger girl was to receive his 'gift' … but to send him _there!_"

She blinked when she realized that her tall partner was staring owlishly at her – Gabrielle searched her partner's face for any hint of deception or mischief but Xena was totally clueless and lost.

Gabrielle closed her eyes against the building pain in her head. This was bad and getting worse … but there was still a chance to save the situation.

"Gabrielle?" She heard her partner's voice and allowed herself to be wrapped in those strong, loving arms.

"What was I thinking, Xe?" she whispered as she slumped into her partner's embrace. "When they approached us to take over this place … what was I thinking?"

"The same thing you always do when faced with a situation – if you could help, why not?" Xena smiled wanly. "You can never resist doing what was right, Gabrielle … even when it was a grumpy, bad-tempered, crotchety warrior princess looking for salvation."

The smaller woman gave her a warm smile but shook her head, the magnitude of their problem weighing down on her. She felt her partner's warm hands drawing comforting circles on her back and sighed before turning back to watch the gyrations of the project staff as they tried to put their consoles back together. She shook her head. "Thanks, Xe," she said softly.

"You're welcome?"

Gabrielle tilted her head back. "You took a hard choice away from me, love – I was more than ready to send the sanctimonious git to Charon as a deckhand but that doesn't solve our problem …"

"OK …" the tall warrior said slowly.

"Our mandate is to get the timeline back on track; problem is we've got only one chance at it. The Second Chance guys have screwed up so badly that we don't have as many chances to send someone back …"

"And _Dumbledork_ was it?"

The blonde CEO shrugged. "Who else was there? Harry Potter's used up all his chances … Hermione Granger also … besides, sending either of them back, even with memories intact, meant they had to work around Dumbledore – either terminating him or marginalizing him to limit the damage he could do.

"The problem was that everyone was so focused on getting rid of Riddle that they overlooked the real issue – they got rid of a Dark Lord, but did nothing to clean up the cesspool which spawned the idiot … give it time, and another Dork Lord will come out of the woodwork and they'll be running around like headless chickens trying to put him down … or begging the 'Chosen One' to save their arses one more time –"

She sighed. "It's like Hagrid killing Aragog - sure, the beast would be dead but the acromantulas are still in the forest. Soon enough, another would take Aragog's place, and the spiders would continue expanding their population and territory until one day they would be on the edges of Hogwarts and it would take far more than a few wizards to drive them back.

"If they could find enough wizards and witches willing to do so."

"And sending Bumbledore back will solve all that?"

Gabrielle shrugged. "It's an elegant solution – as he said, we owe him at least another chance to get things right. At the same time, it re-sets everything and everyone back …"

Xena stared at her partner. "Charon's gonna love you – bringing all those souls across, only to bring them back …"

"You forget, my dear Operations Director, there's a hold on bringing souls across the Styx until we give the go-ahead."

"I don't mean all those souls there _now_, love – I meant all those who'd gone before. Harry's dog father, Amelia Bones, the Diggory lad … uhm, you may have a problem with the last one."

"Oh?" Gabrielle turned to her partner, an eyebrow rising in question.

"I heard something about the Diggory lad being reassigned … Forks, Washington or something like that."

"We'll check it out. It won't be an issue for some time, anyway."

"OK." The two again fell silent, enjoying the comfort of the other's presence, until Xena broke the silence. "Uhmm … Do you really think sending the old goat back is for the best? Given what he knows … chances are that he'll set himself up as the Hero of the Wizarding World – maybe even Emperor Albus I …"

Gabrielle blinked and called out in a panicked voice, "General Kirk?" The General looked up from his discussion with the scientists as Gabrielle continued, "Will Dumbledore retain his memories?"

The General blinked at the question and glanced at the scientists, deferring the matter to them. The two exchanged a quick look before Dr Swain, the balding, grey haired scientist, spoke up, "Uhm … no, ma'am. Memory decay will commence anywhere from 30 to 180 seconds from arrival and merger with his past self … after which the memories from that point forward will … dissipate."

"Pensieve?"

The dark haired female scientist shook her head. "No, ma'am – even if he were to download the memories or write notes, they'd just disappear since they're not part of that timeline, or at least, those events haven't occurred yet."

"Wait, wait …" The scientists and Gabrielle turned to a confused Xena. "I thought you'd retain your memories when you get sent back … or at least, that's what you said about Doctors Newman and Philips."

"Begging your pardon, ma'am," Dr Swain said, a quick flicker of fear apparent in his eyes. "But this isn't a television show …"

He gulped at the elegant eyebrow that was slowly reaching her hairline as well as the slightly bared snarl and quickly continued, "There are very specific, and strictly followed, protocols to allow one to retain memories if you're to be sent back … Mr – Fumbledork? – didn't go through them so …"

"There may be some trace memories, ma'am," Dr MacGregor interrupted. "Nothing specific though – best guess is either a feeling of déjà vu or a feeling of something important that has to be done," she said with Dr Swain nodding beside her.

Gabrielle nodded and shared a grin with her partner. The Amazon guards glanced at each other – they'd seen those smiles too many times before. Those expressions meant infinite pain for those who'd thought that Gabrielle was just another blonde chit of a bombshell … or that Xena was just another muscle-bound dyke with an affinity for sharp objects and small blondes.

A sudden beep from the consoles caught their attention.

Dr MacGregor glanced at the monitor and quickly began hitting a sequence of buttons, Dr Swain quickly doing the same at his panel. Dr MacGregor gave Gabrielle a glance, "Systems online, ma'am. We should have temporal and visual lock in a few minutes."

"All right." The Destiny Repair CEO felt a large callused hand wrap around her smaller one and smiled at her partner before settling back to watch the show, as the giant tunnel's screen flickered to life …


	7. Chapter 7 All Saint's Day

**RETURN TO SENDER**

**Standard Disclaimer**: Don't own, just playing and having fun with characters and situations brought to life by both their original creators and those who had taken them to heart.

**Author's Notes. **If some parts of the chapter look familiar ... they are. I have made extensive use of Chapter 1 of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone ... as with some other parts of canon, there are some things which are just _perfect_ in terms of their writing - even parts of the last two books. Too bad that the epilogue does not form part of what I consider 'perfect' writing and characterization.

**Additional Author's Notes.** This chapter is dedicated to **ladysavay**, whose honest and forthright review made we want to post this immediately. I wanted to reply to her review but her PM has been disabled; thus, this chapter and this A/N.

Unlike my other works (which were written one chapter at a time and posted as I finished them), this story is actually a few chapters ahead. Further, this chapter has been in place since the very first draft and contains the key element behind the story's chapter.

Once again, my deepest gratitude to **ladysavay** and - no, this chapter wasn't written in response to your review. As I said, this has always been in place as a key element of the story; your review, however, hit the mark exactly ... and pushed me to post this earlier than planned. :-)

Hope you enjoy ...

**Chapter Seven. All Saint's Day**

Albus Dumbledore was having a bad day.

Or night.

Whatever.

His mind was a jumble, he wasn't sure what he was doing, he wasn't sure what _day_ or even what _time_ it was … and had he been dreaming earlier or what?

He couldn't have been dead, now could he? He couldn't have watched the utter destruction of his world, a world that he'd spent his life defending, in that huge cavern with all those strange contraptions, now could he? He hadn't just been berated by that little pipsqueak of a girl –

He shook his head. No matter – he was at Privet Drive now; all he needed was to fetch Harry and bring him along to see Slughorn, and then bring Harry to the Burrow to be smothered by Molly and …

He blinked. What the hell?

The thing in his hand – a Put-Outer? Didn't he leave that in his office as a bequest for Ronald Weasley … SHYTE!

Everything came together for him then – the darkened street, the familiar houses, the Put-Outer in his hand and … he peered down the street – the cat sitting stiffly on the fence in front of a particular house.

November 1, 1981. The night after Halloween.

Number Four Privet Drive.

Everything flooded back – Voldemort gone, baby Harry brought to Hogwarts by Hagrid, his mental and physical gyrations from London to Scotland and back as he set his plans into motion, issuing commands and instructions to his staff at the school, at the Ministry and to his Order …

And still the memories continued – the letter to Petunia in his pocket, the instructions to Arabella Figg to move to this neighbourhood, the upcoming trials of Lucius Malfoy, Severus Snape, Igor Karkaroff and so many others … the matter of Sirius Black … Harry's Hogwarts letters … the Philosopher's Stone … Riddle's Diary … Dementors … the Goblet of Fire …

He drew a deep breath and surreptitiously withdrew a vial from his robes. No lemon drops this time – and he paused. No matter that the lights were out, Minerva in her cat form could see what he was doing … but he shrugged it off. After the past twenty-four hours – or was it the past seventeen years? – he needed a clear head.

He downed the vial's contents and shuddered as it went down, grateful as ever that Severus had seen the Light and turned on his former master. The man was a genius with Potions – and what he'd imbibed was proof of that!

He began walking down the street and grinned at the surge of energy running through his body and his mind. As he took a deep breath, he ordered his thoughts …

Did it really happen? HADES, Valhalla, Hermione Granger … Gabrielle, Xena, the Time Tunnel … It had been so _real_ …

Or was it? He heard the vials clinking in his pocket and shook his head. Severus had warned him about taking too much – but he'd had no choice! It was his burden and his responsibility – there was no one else who could do what he had to do. He'd borne the mantle of leadership for decades … and if he needed a little tipple of Severus' wonderful potions so that he can continue functioning …

'It's for the Greater Good,' he thought to himself, as he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it but after a moment he spoke to it. "Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun.

She looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

He grinned to himself as he fell quickly into the routine he remembered so well – "My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

They continued as they had before – and that caught Albus Dumbledore short. How did he know what she was going to say even before she could say it? It sure as hell wasn't Legilimency, as he hadn't even attempted it.

Did that mean that he'd just had a … a _vision_ of the future? It felt so _real_ … but then the memories faded and he couldn't remember what they were exactly – was this how Seers felt? Knowing that they'd made pronouncements, predictions, prophecies – but then losing those memories immediately after?

Or was it something else?

He gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it, using the action to cover his confusion. Did this mean that everything that he thought was a dream … had actually happened? That the world he'd worked so hard to save was going to be destroyed?

Was this, in fact, a **second** chance for him to do what he had to in order to avoid that horrible, frightening fate?

If yes … what was he supposed to change? Where did he even _begin_ to make the change?

"Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family he has left now."

"You don't mean – you can't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four.

"Dumbledore – you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son – I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry Potter come and live here!"

"It's the best place for him," said Dumbledore firmly. "His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he's older. I've written them a letter."

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall – Dumbledore stared at her as she ranted … listening as he listed his reasons, all the while that a niggling doubt began forming in his mind.

Was this **really** the best for the boy?

Yes, he told himself firmly, it would be best to keep him from his fame – as well as keep him safe from those who would either exploit him or kill him. Best for everyone that young Harry be kept hidden … allow their world to heal from the ravages of war and rebuild their lives.

They had a monumental task ahead of them. Their world was devastated – economy ruined, so many witches and wizards dead, tortured or who'd abandoned Britain … and those left just wanted to get on with their lives.

Harry would be a distraction – people will look at Harry and be reminded of his parents and their sacrifice, a constant reminder to people of what they had lost: husbands or wives, brothers or sisters, aunts or uncles …

They'll be baying like hounds for those who'd followed Voldemort and revelled in the bloodbath the maniac had unleashed – which would only devastate their world even more. He could almost see the headlines demanding the Veil for the Death Eaters as 'justice' for young Harry and his parents.

The problem was that those who'd be sent through the Veil were also those who had the means and capability to get Wizarding Britain up and running. To go after them was to destroy what was left – there would have been no one left to jumpstart their economy, no one to sit in the Wizengamot, no one with the experience to head the Ministry's departments …

And very few left to uphold the traditions and customs that had kept Magical Britain safe for the past millennia.

It would take _years_ to rebuild. More, if all that he had left to rebuild were the muggleborns and muggle-raised who had no idea of their traditions, no understanding of their glorious history or even a modicum of appreciation for The Greater Good!

What will they do if the Dark Lord came back while they were still rebuilding? True, Voldemort won't have his original power base of rich and wealthy purebloods like the Malfoys … but his presence alone would have others flocking to his bloody banner.

The prophecy made it all but inevitable. He knew, the moment he saw Harry's scar, that the damned thing was well and truly in play – actually he'd known from the moment Severus came to him and confessed that he'd heard it and run straight to Voldemort … Harry's scar meant that Voldemort would come back …

And he had to prepare the boy for his destiny.

THAT was the end-all and be-all of his plans – Harry had to be ready for that final confrontation with Voldemort. The horcrux in his head led to only one scenario: he had to let Voldemort 'kill' him, destroying the final soul piece and rendering the bastard mortal, after which Harry, using the element of surprise, finally rids the world of the evil.

The magical world will have its Saviour – and the world he'd fought so hard for, suffered so much for, will be safe for another thousand years …

Lily's sacrifice had given their world at least ten years of peace – time enough to rebuild, to bring their economy back on track and most importantly, bring those who'd gone Dark back to the Light … Severus had done so, borne out of his unrequited love for Lily – why can't the others? Especially the Malfoys, Parkinsons, Crabbes, Goyles … ten years would be more than enough to reform them, right?

It was for the Greater Good, wasn't it?

Hiding Harry away would give him the time he needed – as well as giving their world a bright, shining icon of the power of Love over Hate, of the inevitability of Light winning over Dark … but it couldn't happen if Harry were around now. The boy would only be a distraction, a constant reminder of who they'd fought for and who had finally defeated their Dark Lord.

But in ten years, when he was ready to enter Hogwarts and return to the magical world and his destiny …

He nearly jumped when Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog. He'd been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't even noticed Hagrid arriving with Harry – and was grateful for that overwhelming sense of déjà vu that had him responding in a way that would not draw suspicion from his companions.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall at Hagrid, "you'll wake the Muggles!"

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it – Lily an' James dead – an' poor little Harry off ter live with Muggles –"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets, and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall – Professor Dumbledore, sir."

Wiping his streaming eyes on his sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life – and with a roar, hurtled down the road, having forgotten to set the thing for flight, not drive – right into the still-turning Dumbledore and McGonagall, sending both flying into the air, to land with a loud THUD on either side of the road.

He quickly braked and jumped off the motorbike, staring at the scene with horrified eyes before he whispered, "I should na ha' done that."

Unknown to him, in another dimension, an old wizard wearing flamboyant robes found himself holding a mop, alone on the greasy, muddy deck of a dingy, disreputable barge on a river as black as midnight. He blinked and asked, "What, in the name of Merlin's hairy balls, have I done now?"

In the Project Tic-Toc control room, a wide-eyed Xena turned to her partner and demanded, "You're not leaving the boy with _Hagrid_, are you?"

. oOo.

*R. Lupin walks off whistling into the sunset ...*

Please review.

Thank you.


	8. Chapter 8 All Soul's Day

**Standard Disclaimer: **Wish I owned it but since I don't ... on with the show.

**Chapter Eight. All Soul's Day**

Hagrid's first instinct was to panic.

He had, after all, just killed the Greatest Wizard since Merlin – as well as the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts. Accidentally, of course – but who would believe him? He was only the groundskeeper of the school; he hadn't even finished his OWLS much less his NEWTS and, worst of all, he's of mixed breed.

And he was the one who delivered Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, to his muggle relatives. Sure, he did so under Dumbledore's orders – but who would believe him? It could just as easily be said that he'd followed orders from the Headmaster … and then killed both Dumbledore and Minerva, in order to deliver the boy to You-Know-Who's followers.

He's half-giant, after all.

He took a deep breath. Sure, he was all that – but he was also a member of the Order of the Phoenix. He'd fought and bled beside some of the best fighters for the Light – survived several ambushes by the Death Eaters and had done quite well … least, he was alive while so many others had been killed or wounded.

Dumbledore – 'great man, Dumbledore', he thought – had trusted him with various missions over the years … and he wouldn't fail the great man now.

Even if he'd been the cause of the great man's untimely demise.

First things first.

With a speed and grace that most people would never have expected of such a large man, he approached the two bodies on the road. One look at Dumbledore and he bit his lip, hard, to stop another howl from escaping his chest. The old man's head was at an unnatural angle, and Hagrid had more than enough experience with animals to know that his best and oldest friend had gone on to his next great adventure.

Professor McGonagall, on the other hand …

Touching her neck gently, he blinked when he felt a faint pulse. Quickly, he pulled out a rolled-up leather satchel from his pocket and unrolled it, his fingers gently touching the various vials within in a search for a specific one – Blood Replenishing potion, no … burn cream, no … Pepper-Up Potion – later; and … 'Ahh!' he thought.

Just the thing.

Uncorking the vial, he waved the open end under McGonagall's nose – and was rewarded with the Deputy Headmistress' eyes shooting open even as she slapped the offending hand away from her.

She blinked at the sight of Hagrid's face looming above her – opened her mouth to scream at him for shoving his unwashed socks under her nose – and gasped when she felt liquid fire being poured down her throat, involuntarily gulping it down at the same time.

She closed her eyes at the liquid heat spreading throughout her body and felt the steam escaping her ears … shaking her head, she realized that her headache was gone – and memories quickly flooded through her brain …

The Halloween feast … the panic and confusion when young Severus fainted into the pudding … Waking up this morning to Filius banging on her door … nearly hexing the diminutive professor only to listen in shock to the news that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was DEAD … running to the Headmaster's office in her hastily-thrown on robes, only to learn from the guardian gargoyle that he wasn't in …

"Hadrid? What –"

She gaped at the tear-stricken face of the groundskeeper and the images in her mind spun faster and faster – arriving at the Great Hall to the spectacle of a parliament of owls winging around as the students and teachers danced in celebration … announcing the cancellation of classes for the day before leaving for the Hospital Wing to check on young Severus (and share a tipple with Poppy Pomfrey, the school healer) – only to find Hagrid guarding a bed where a baby lay sleeping while Pomfrey was tending to a still-unconscious Snape … demanding answers from the gentle half-giant and listening, horrified, to his tale … leaving the castle to apparate here to wait for the Headmaster … watching Lily's sister and her family all day and becoming increasingly disturbed the longer she watched … Dumbledore arriving, their talk, Hagrid arriving … and then –

Shaking her head yet again, she looked around and gasped. Dumbledore was still on the road, a few feet from her – face down, unmoving … her head whipped around to Hagrid who was still on his knees, weeping, his great shoulders shaking as he tried to keep a howl from escaping his lips …

"HAGRID!" Years of teaching came to the fore – she had long perfected the art of screaming in a whisper, the single word more than enough to act like a tank of ice-cold water pouring down on the big man. "Help me up!"

The trembling half-giant gently pulled her to her feet; shakily, she pulled out her wand and cast a notice-me-not charm around them, ensuring that no one could see them or even give a thought to their odd presence in this extremely normal street.

Glancing at the still form of the Headmaster, she cut her eyes to Hagrid, who quickly shook his head even as he collapsed to the ground. McGonagall bit her lip as she felt her world disintegrating – why now, she thought, why now of all days?

They were supposed to be celebrating – this was the best day of their lives! After nearly a decade of ever encroaching darkness, dawn had broken through! You-Know-Who was vanquished, her friends and students were safe … they could raise their glasses to the fallen and get drunk for the next week, classes be damned …

But THIS?

A faint whimper broke through her roiling thoughts and her head snapped up, her lips forming a thin line as she drew breath to berate Hagrid for again drawing attention to them – and stopped when she realized that it wasn't Hagrid.

'Morgana's balls!' she thought. 'Harry!'

She took a step towards the baby in the basket and stopped, the last conversation she had – that she will ever have – with her friend and mentor crashing through her mind.

He wanted to leave Harry with these people, the very ones she'd watched the whole day, whose behaviour appalled her. Unbidden, her mind recalled the sight of the rotund young boy, kicking and screaming for sweets while the horse-faced woman took it, shushing him but looking for all the world like she was headed straight for the candy store to give the young brat exactly what he was asking for and more!

She remembered her protest, her disgust at the thought of the young boy, no – the young hero of the wizarding world – being left here with these people who she'd told Dumbledore would in no way understand them.

But it was Dumbledore – teacher, mentor, friend, superior … the greatest wizard of their age … the only one He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named ever feared … the Leader of Light …

And he was dead. Killed in a freak accident by the Hogwarts groundskeeper, a most gentle man who had undoubtedly been overcome by the thought of leaving a child on a doorstep, on a cold night with only a blanket and a letter … on a muggle street that was as distant from their world that it may as well have been on the moon for many of their kind …

She had agreed with Dumbledore's reasoning, she knew – agreed, as she'd always had, every time he'd turned those twinkling blue eyes on her … against every fibre of her being, against every maternal instinct she had …

Did she owe it to the memory of the man, the Leader of Light that they had followed for decades? The man who'd held them together against the encroaching darkness, who'd led the forces of right against the sickening depravations of the second most evil wizard this century?

It was his last wish, after all. In a way, it was his final order to his followers … and she, like so many others, was his disciple. She may be his Deputy at school but she, more than any others, knew that it meant little in the total scheme of things. She was there to ensure that things ran smoothly, that the teachers were paid, that the hallways were clean, the students followed the rules and took their tests …

"Perfessor?" She blinked and realized that Hagrid was looking at her, worry in his dark eyes. She knew what he was going to ask and wished, for the briefest of moments, that he hadn't had that damned bottle that smelled worse that the locker rooms after a hard-fought Quidditch game or, even better, that the thrice-be-damned motorbike had run over her instead …

"What are we gonna do?"

It was Sirius' motorcycle, Hagrid told them – and her eyes narrowed at the retribution she'd exact from that damned boy's hide for even giving it to Hagrid … and just barely stopped her hand from slapping herself.

Now was not the time for morbid or insane thoughts. She glanced at the Dursley's doorstep and bit her lip at the sight of those small hands waving in the air, the feet kicking in the cool night air …

The mantle had passed. For good or ill, she had no choice … Albus was dead but little Harry was alive. Albus may have had his reasons but those reasons were his, not hers … and her commitments were to the living, not the dead.

Silent, she walked over to the body on the road and knelt beside it, taking a brief moment for contemplation and prayer, saying good bye to an old friend and wishing him well.

Standing up, she murmured a soft, "I'm sorry" before summoning his Put-Outer from his robes. Drawing her wand, she transfigured his body into a large box, wrapped in gaudy paper the exact shade and colour of the robes he wore this day.

Turning to the wide-eyed half-giant, she said in her no-nonsense voice, "It will nae do to brang him to the castle as he is, Hagrid." Shaking her head at the Scottish accent that had manifested itself so easily, she continued, "Straight to the Hospital Wing, Hagrid – and nae a word to anyone! Do ye understand?"

The groundskeeper nodded violently, his eyes wide as he understood exactly what the Deputy Headmistress was saying. He didn't need a mastery in Divination to realize that he was deep in dragon dung if this got out … he'd do as asked and stick to non-alcoholic butterbeer for the foreseeable future – that, or do his drinking in the safety of his hut or deep in the forest with only Aragog for companionship.

Hagrid shook his head and blinked when he realized that McGonagall had baby Harry in her arms, cooing at the little tyke softly as she approached. He opened his mouth to protest, to point out that she was supposed to leave the baby with the muggles, as per the Great Man's last instructions – but stopped and gulped when the elderly Scotswoman speared him with wintry-cold eyes.

"I know wha' he said, Hagrid – I know what he wanted … but he's nae here now, is he?"

The large man staggered back at her words, guilt crashing through him as those words cut to his soul. Before he could say anything, however, McGonagall was at his side, one hand trying to wrap around his huge hand, her suddenly-teary eyes focused on the ground.

"I'm sorry, Hagrid … I didna mean what I jus' said … it was an accident, I know that. An unfortunate accident …"

The elderly woman raised her head and looked at him with pained eyes. "Albus has his reasons … he always has his reasons, but he isn't here now. I canna leave the bairn here with these … these …"

Hagrid's eyes widened at the clearly visible struggle that McGonagall was going through – she looked ready to spit and that was something that he had never thought he'd ever see from the prim and proper professor. There was obviously more here than what he'd thought or saw … best to keep quiet for now and see what was going to happen.

He could always bring baby Harry back here in compliance with the Headmaster's last orders if he needed to. He'd make sure of that … he slumped. His duty was to the living, especially the son of his best friends … people who'd respected him, who'd looked beyond his ancestry and appearance …

He nodded at McGonagall as she continued.

"Go on then, Hagrid. Straight to the Hospital Wing – and not a word to anyone until I get there." McGonagall smiled, wryly. "How foolish of me … I'll probably be there ahead of you."

At Hagrid's questioning look, she replied, "I'll apparate myself and the bairn there – we'll be there before you can bring Albus. In the meantime …"

She sighed as she visibly centred herself. Raising her wand, she gestured and Hagrid watched as several silvery shapes shot out, heading in different directions. He nodded, recognizing the messenger spells that were a specialty of the Order and turned to the garish, purple box on the road.

As he manhandled the box to the motorbike, McGonagall placed her wand carefully in her robes. Still holding the baby in her arms, she pulled out Dumbledore's Put-Outer and clicked it once, watching silently as twelve balls of light sped back to their streetlights so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange.

She heard Hagrid starting his bike and stepped back, unwilling to risk another accident and smiled tightly when the huge motorcycle – still dwarfed by the huge man astride it and with the large, purple box cradled carefully in his arms – silently lifted into the air and sped off into the night.

Sighing, she carefully adjusted the sleepy babe in her arms and took a final look around. Turning on her heel, she was gone.

In a different dimension, Destiny Repair's CEO found herself the recipient of incredulous stares, and shrugged. "The Second Chance guys interfered before – they reset the time stream to just before Hagrid got on the motorbike and reminded him to switch the thing to flight before taking off."

She glanced sideways at her partner. "It's in the files, Xe."

"I see," her partner said slowly. "And if McGonagall decided to leave Harry with the Dursleys?"

Gabrielle smiled back. "But she didn't, did she?"

Xena nodded and Gabrielle chose not to elaborate. She didn't want to tell her partner that _if_ McGonagall decided to follow the old goat's last instructions, she would have found herself splinched when she tried to apparate … and would find herself as a deckhand on the old scow, working beside the man she'd blindly trusted and deferred to.

Gabrielle shook her head. If that had happened, she'd have no choice but to have Xena hunt down Sirius Black and beat some sense into the old dog … or maybe go after Remus Lupin …

'Or someone else,' she thought to herself as the tunnel's focus shifted …


	9. Chapter 9 Moving On

**RETURN TO SENDER**

**DISCLAIMER: **As per the norm, don't own it, ain't making money off it, am just playing in the playground.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**: As usual, deepest thanks and gratitudes to everyone who has posted a review, added this to favourites and alerts. Thank you.

... and on with the show.

**Chapter Nine. Moving On **

In a hospital bed surrounded by dividers, a greasy-haired young man blinked – his large, prominent nose twitching as it sniffed, much like a rat checking its surroundings, even as the rest of his body tensed, one hand unconsciously groping around for his wand.

The young man experienced a brief moment of panic as his hand grasped nothing but cloth; turning his head slowly, he released a sigh of relief at spotting his wand on the small chest of drawers to his right.

He relaxed slightly when the wand was in hand and he took in a few deep breaths to calm his racing heart even as his senses ranged around – eyes taking in the white sheets he was laying on as well as the white blanket covering him from the chest down; his nose taking in the astringent, antiseptic smell that was so distinct from his own preferred smells; his mouth was cottony and dry and he had to swallow a few times to relieve it.

Finally, his ears twitched as he heard murmuring somewhere nearby – too indistinct to be identifiable, except that they sounded … familiar.

His brain processed the information even as it analysed the state of his body – sore all over, the back of his head aching, a small area of his right arm burning just below the elbow …

Cursing silently, he lifted the arm and stared at the skull with a snake coming out of its mouth – the Dark Mark of Voldemort, faded to near-indistinctness and he bit his lip as memories of pain flooded his mind …

Halloween.

He'd been sitting at the staff table, silent, brooding, watching the little twerps and dunderheads celebrating – granted, he admitted to himself, they needed every little morsel of joy that Hogwarts could provide in these dark and dreary times – while his heart broke at memories of past celebrations that would never again be …

It was sudden and so completely unexpected, that pain – a searing, agonizing pain that felt as if his arm was being torn apart … he'd staggered to his feet, clutching that arm tightly even as he fought to keep the scream from exploding out his throat – and then, nothing.

_What happened? _His dark, beady eyes narrowed as his brain processed the information … took one glance at his now-faded Mark and widened …

It was the wave of vertigo which made him realize that he was standing by his bed, clutching at the bed post as he fought the nausea down. It took him several deep breaths but he successfully fought the dizziness off – he'd suffered much more than this at the hands of the Dark Lord, after all … and he had to find out _what happened!_

Shakily, he opened the divider surrounding his bed and looked around. As he'd suspected, he was in the Hogwarts hospital wing … a glance at the window showed starlight and darkness, which meant that he'd been out for several hours at least. Turning back to the wing, he realized that the voices he'd heard earlier were coming from Pomfrey's office and he took a shaky step forward, determined to find out what had happened – and what the future held in store for him.

He'd barely taken a step when he stopped, puzzled.

What was a _baby _doing here?

He shook his head and took another shaky step – he'd never had much to do with babies, after all. If truth were told, they actually frightened him: so small, so helpless, able to communicate only with gurgles, arms and legs waving … and that heart rending wail when denied something they felt they deserved but couldn't get …

And stopped. There was something about this baby that was calling to him. Unthinking, he strengthened his Occlumency shields before mentally slapping himself – why should he guard his thoughts from a baby, of all things? The thought made him pause and focus, however … for there was an … an aura of _something_ about the child that drew him …

Unwilling, he stood by the bedside, frowning at the sleeping yet restless child. His gaze picked up nothing remarkable about it – except for the thin, lightning bolt-shaped scar on its forehead which seemed to be tugging at his Mark. Frowning, he reached out to touch the scar – and jumped back in surprise when the child's eyes opened and caught him in their clear, green gaze.

He had to grab for the bed's side lest he fall; unfortunately, there was nothing he could do but stare at the eyes – 'Lily's eyes', he realized. For an instance he felt blind rage cloud his vision – this, this brat was the spawn of his most hated enemy, the one who'd made his life a living hell from that first day on the Hogwarts Express, the one who'd stolen the love and light of his life from him …

Severus Snape bit his lip hard as he closed his eyes. No matter what he thought, there was no denying Lily's eyes staring at him. There was nothing of James Potter in the child as he now was, save for the tuft of black hair which – he shook his head in amusement – could just as easily come from him, or Black or any of a dozen other men.

The eyes, however, they could only be Lily's eyes.

Unthinking, he reached out to touch a chubby cheek – and almost jumped out of his skin when he felt tiny fingers grab his finger and hold on with surprising strength. He stared at those green eyes that were looking at him curiously … and frowned when he felt a strange tingling in his Dark Mark.

He tried to pull away but the baby was too strong; he watched, fascinated, as it slowly sat up, still holding on to him. Unconsciously, he smiled as he shook his head, marvelling once again at the trusting nature of babies and little children. They were the only ones – aside from Lily – who never ran away from him in fear. His smile broadened at the memory of the few he'd known – those few that Lily Evans had baby-sat for when she was younger, and whom she'd introduced to him whenever he was around …

Impulsively, he lifted the baby from its bed and cradled it in his arms – Lily's lessons on holding them properly coming to the fore. He frowned deeply once again when he felt that peculiar tingling in his Mark; instinctively, he adjusted the now wide-awake babe so that it was cradled in his other, unmarked, arm while he held the other by his side.

It was awkward but this would only be for a few moments, anyway and he started swaying slowly, rocking the infant in his arm soothingly … totally unaware that Poppy Pomfrey, Minerva McGonagall and Filius Flitwick were gaping at him from the door of the Healer's office. All three had known the acerbic, harsh and sarcastic potions genius – Flitwick and McGonagall had both taken turns either lambasting him, taking points or watching him in detentions when he was a student (all too often sharing detentions in order to keep Snape and his friends at opposite ends of the castle and grounds from James Potter and _his _friends) while Poppy Pomfrey had had him as a patient innumerable times – as well as having Potter and his friends also in the infirmary – for non-Quidditch related injuries.

Watching the bitter, caustic young man actually cradling an infant in his arms and being so gentle about it had all three smiling softly, none of them willing to break the tableau. All three also had a single thought in mind – what they would give to have a camera on hand right now … the blackmail potential of having a photo of this tender moment to hold over their youngest and harshest colleague was something to savour …

"LET GO OF MY GODSON, DEATH EATER!"

Sirius Black had arrived.

Before the teachers or Pomfrey could even blink, a red-hued spell was on its way – straight for Snape and the babe he held. Instinctively, Snape turned away – protecting the precious bundle in his arms, his brain moving at light speed to position his body in such a way that the baby wouldn't be hurt if he fell to the cold, stone floor.

Turned away as he was, Snape couldn't see what happened next – an almighty BONG resounded in the Hospital Wing just as the spell was about to hit and the older adults gaped as the air around Snape fluoresced in golden sparkles –

In a millisecond, the spell or curse was speeding back towards Sirius, darker than it had been when first cast – it was only Sirius' adrenaline-fuelled muscles and combat-trained senses which made him jump and roll out of the way of the returning spell which ploughed into the wall behind him and exploded, leaving a deep hole with scorch marks around it.

Sirius, however, ignored the near-miss; still running on his adrenaline high, he'd quickly recovered his stance and was about to send another curse at Severus when a hand unexpectedly materialized from behind him and grabbed him, spinning him around …

Right into a fist.

The teachers and Pomfrey gasped when an enraged Remus Lupin emerged from the shadows and grabbed Sirius Black by the back of his robes and threw him into a medicinal cabinet even as a feral roar escaped the dishevelled, normally mild-mannered young man: "YOU TRAITOR!"

Remus leaped for a still-shocked Sirius who was lodged within the cabinet, his intent clear in his yellowed eyes and bared teeth which showed the barest hint of fangs – as one, McGonagall, Flitwick and Pomfrey had wands out and red jets of magic were speeding for the werewolf.

Remus had jumped aside the moment the stunners were in the air, but he hadn't counted on the skill and experience of the three. Only Pomfrey's stunner passed through where he'd been a moment before – Flitwick's and McGonagall's stunners, however, bracketed the Healer's curse with Flitwick's hitting the enraged man in the back.

It wasn't enough to stun him completely, however – it was just enough to make him pause and turn, in time for another three stunners to find their marks.

The three released sighs of relief as Remus slumped to the floor; Pomfrey was moving towards Sirius Black, whom she'd inadvertently stunned when her curse missed Remus – only to stop as a feminine roar echoed within the Hospital Wing: "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?"

In another dimension, a tall, dark-haired, powerfully-built woman was also on her feet, staring at the 'frame' within a huge tunnel where events had just played out in all their glory. She slowly turned around to face her partner and companion.

"I'd like to ask the same thing, Gab," the tall woman said quietly.


	10. Chapter 10 Retrospect

**RETURN TO SENDER**

**DISCLAIMER**: Don't own it, don't make money from it, just playing in the playground.

**Chapter Ten. Retrospect**

Minister of Magic Millicent Bagnold sat on an unoccupied hospital bed, massaging her aching head, undecided between asking for a hangover potion with a Pepper-Up chaser from Poppy Pomfrey or a 'medicinal' glass of fire-whiskey. Better yet, as she glanced at Minerva McGonagall, maybe a bottle of single-malt, 12-year Scotch would hit the spot - she was sure her old schoolmate had one stashed somewhere.

Or a bottle of Goblin brandy, she thought, glancing at Filius Flitwick who was standing, wand in hand, warily watching a still-unconscious Remus Lupin and Sirius Black. The latter was slumped in a chair being ministered to by Pomfrey; this, however, did not stop him from shooting murderous glances at a greasy-haired young man standing quietly in one corner, calmly watching everyone else – or to throw concerned looks at the other side where an unconscious Remus Lupin lay.

Millicent Bagnold shook her head at the shitty hand that Fate had dealt her – what the hell was she doing _here?_

She should be out there, celebrating with the rest of Magical Britain, partying with the best of them – or getting out of town for a well-deserved and long overdue vacation …

Not sitting here waiting for the shoe to drop. The only thing she was grateful for at the moment was that the whiskered, twinkly-eyed wanker wasn't around – she had no trouble envisioning the wrinkly-arsed old goat skulking around, disillusioned, waiting for the right moment to make his grand appearance, proclaiming, "There's nothing to fear, Dumbledore is here!"

And it had been going oh-so-_brilliantly_, too! Yesterday – despite its ups and downs – definitely qualified as the best day of her life!

It started with her security detail bursting into her bedroom – good thing she hadn't hexed young Shacklebolt to the next dimension! – screaming that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was dead, that the news was all over the Wizarding Wireless which quoted 'sources' at the Daily Prophet … she was preparing to leave for the Ministry, intent on chopping off a few DMLE heads for not informing _her_ about it, when the special edition of the Prophet arrived … and there it was.

Sixteen-inch headlines proclaimed, "**YOU-KNOW-WHO? HE'S DEAD!**"

Below that, in slightly smaller type: "**BOY-WHO-LIVED DESTROYS YOU-KNOW-WHO**.

Finally, the article itself under the by-line of that intrepid reporter and unmitigated bitch, err, _witch_, Rita Skeeter … and she'd blown her top.

What kind of drunken shyte had Rita put together? James and Lily – dead? Hiding from You-Know-Who in some 'undisclosed location', only for You-Know-Who to find them through means unknown – to be destroyed by Harry Potter, the 'Boy-Who-Lived'?

She vowed to send the Skeeter through the veil for peddling cannabis-induced fantasies to sell newspapers … She shook her head.

She decided to portkey to the Ministry, afraid of getting splinched because of her blinding rage. They'd arrived to a total party atmosphere in the lobby – and she _hated_ herself for throwing cold water on the celebration: yes, she'd seen the news … no, she could not confirm it yet … yes, she'd make an **official** announcement once she met with her Head Auror who was leading the investigation …

The only thing that stopped her from tearing a few strips off Amelia Bones when the latter appeared was the younger woman's pinched, angry face at learning that Skeeter had somehow found out and scooped the whole lot of them – releasing the information even before Amelia could report to the Minister of Magic.

And _that_ was when the **real** celebrations began.

'Yeah, right,' the Minister thought as she rubbed her head. After the 'official' announcement – yes, You-Know-Who was dead; details to follow; Head Auror Bones leading the investigation; go home, have fun, etcetera – _she_ had to deal with the fallout …

Starting with the whiskered wanker who was waiting in her office, spouting platitudes and twinkling like a demented street lamp. He'd talked her into signing off on a couple of documents concerning some orphan or other who he said had to be protected for 'the Greater Good' … her mind shut down at that and she'd signed off rather than listen to his bovine droppings and hoped for a moment of peace –

And then that fascist-loving, goose-stepping male chauvinist pig of a Crotch – err, Crouch! – _stormed_ into _her_ office, loudly demanding that she release _her_ security detail to him so that he can go out and arrest the Dark Lord's minions … It had been with the greatest of pleasure that she'd told the headline-grabbing fool that with You-Know-Who gone, his wide ranging_ emergency_ 'powers' – especially warrantless arrests and raids – were now at an end.

And that she _expected_ every arrest he made from then on to conform with the law – no 'suspects' arrested on mere suspicion, no prisoners 'killed while trying to escape' – and that he better have a basis for every action he took or she would _personally _throw him through the Veil!

It had been so worth it to watch the fanatical light dim in the bastard's eyes.

Millicent Bagnold shook her head. True, Crouch had been effective in taking the fight to the Death Eaters … the only problem was that the idiot's 'strategy' of going in with wands blazing and a 'kill them all, let Merlin sort 'em out' mind-set, threatened to _depopulate_ Magical Britain – and take out a large part of the muggle population as well!

_He_ didn't have to deal with the widows and orphans of the innocents caught in the crossfire … neither did _he_ have to deal with angry foreign Ministers of Magic, screaming that _her_ 'people' had cut down harmless tourists because _his_ idiots couldn't tell foreigners from Death Eaters … nor did _he_ have to deal with an enraged muggle Prime Minister who'd screamed at her for a good half-hour because Grouch's – Crouch's! – minions had blown up a muggle street in order to take down two, **two**,Death Eaters!

Much as she hated the whiskered wanker with his bromides and inanities, she had to admit that he did have his uses – especially in keeping the gung-ho, gunpowder-sniffing, addle-brained, volatile schemer of a Crotch in check. Good thing too that she'd been able to place Amelia as Head Auror over the vociferous objections of Grouch, else she'd have been presiding over a depopulated, devastated Magical Britain!

She rolled her shoulders, trying to ease the aching tension in them. 'Man's work is from sun to sun, a Minister's work is never done – yeah, yeah,' she thought. She'd finally made it home late last night … had a celebratory night-cap before heading to bed … only for that damned patronus of a Scottish wildcat that could only come from Minerva to _sit _on her chest and _demand_ that she join Minerva in Hogwarts for an urgent meeting …

She sighed. If it had been anyone other than Minerva, she'd have told them to bugger a centaur – but since it was _Minnie_, she'd reluctantly left her cosy bed and gone to Hogwarts, arriving at the gates just as a clearly sleep-deprived Amelia Bones showed up, apparently called for the same meeting. A house elf was waiting for them and brought them to the Hospital Wing where they'd walked into a fight between Black and Lupin …

And here she was, waiting for the piano to drop.

Millicent Bagnold scowled. The longer she hung around, the less chance there was of getting away for her much-deserved Caribbean vacation. She had no doubt that the whiskered, twinkly-eyed wanker would be around soon to coerce her to stick around – if only to act as a buffer to keep that fascist, male chauvinist pig of a Crotch – err, Crouch! – under control.

"Minister?" She nearly jumped at the low voice and turned to see Minerva McGonagall approaching with a large, steaming mug in hand. The Minister's eyes narrowed – she didn't need an insipid mug of tea – but stopped when the unmistakable aroma of fresh-ground coffee laced with a generous measure of cognac wafted into her nostrils.

"You look like you need this," McGonagall said, smirking – something, Millicent noted, which didn't reach her eyes. The Minister didn't care, however – her first sip of the scalding beverage helped centre her thoughts.

"Minx," Millicent said as she raised the mug in salute, to which McGonagall responded by sticking her tongue out at her. The two old friends smiled at each other, remembering the happy days of 'The Bitches' Coven' – young Minerva Fraser, the confident and talented Gryffindor; Augusta Croaker, the stiff and formal Ravenclaw; Dorea Black, the fiery but sly Slytherin and herself, the shy and unassuming Hufflepuff.

Theirs had been a friendship that so few now remember – war, migration and Voldemort's (shiver) insurrection had taken its toll. They considered themselves lucky in that they'd only lost Dorea from their circle – but had to balance that with the loss of Charles and Franklin, and now, Charles' son James and his daughter-in-law Lily.

"I know, Millie," Minerva said, interrupting her thoughts. "Nae a thing for us tae do but to honour the living and protect their legacy," Minerva continued with a short nod to the corner where Amelia was playing with a sleepy Harry Potter.

Millicent nodded as she took another sip of her cognac-laced coffee. 'Minnie would have made a far better Minister than me,' she thought. Minerva had the administrative and people skills – as well as generations of witches and wizards that she'd taught, mothered, pushed when she felt they were slacking – literally, hundreds of people who deeply respected her and her strict but fair ways.

It was Dumbledore, however, who'd blocked such a move – pleading, with tears in his eyes, that he needed Minerva at Hogwarts 'to protect our future'. There was more than a grain of truth in that, Millicent admitted – but only because the bearded wonder spent far too much of his time _outside_ the school rather than _in_ it – politicking at the Wizengamot and the ICW, and lately, 'conducting' the war against Voldemort (shake).

And 'conducting' it was, Millicent thought sourly.

Rather than leading from the front, the old goat preferred to stay behind the scenes, allowing his Order of the Phoenix to face the Death Eaters' wands rather than mixing it up – secure behind some of the best fighters in Britain as well as his reputation as 'the only wizard He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named feared'.

'Yeah, right,' she thought bitterly, 'the only one the Dark Lord feared' – so why the hell didn't _he_ become Minister of Magic? Voldemort would have shat his pants with _Minister Dumbledore _at the helm.

She shook her head – she knew why.

Why should Dumbledorerisk _his_ bony arse? Better to have someone else targeted rather than have his lily-white arse and pure as the driven snow heart on the line in case You-Know-Who got lucky and took him down.

Or worse, that some no-account, no-name Death Eater take _Dumbledore _down and tarnish his legend.

Crouch was no better, in a way. Sure, he was at the front lines – right behind a phalanx of strapping lads and lassies and with a dragonhide vest reinforced with magically-lightened metal plates beneath his fastidious robes …

'Like Dumbledore,' she thought spitefully. 'Why should _he_ lead from the front where a lucky shot could kill him and his dreams of becoming Minister of Magic? Better be head of DMLE and have all those strapping young lads and lassies in front of him to take one for the Kipper … rather than sit in the Minister's office or at home, waiting for Voldemort (quiver) to come calling …'

Which is how she, to all appearances an unexceptional witch from a minor matriarchal line in the Wizengamot with absolutely no interest in politics, found herself 'selected' as Minister of Magic.

She'd been a compromise candidate – elected into office by the ball-less wonders in the Wizengamot on the urging of Dumbledork and Grouch, a fact that she'd been more than steamed about … until calm and collected Augusta Longbottom _nee _Croaker laid into her.

As Augusta pointed out, better for her to take the post than have Old Blue Eyes surrender the Ministry 'for the Greater Good' – or have Crotch-Grouch-Crouch wipe out Magical Britain in his rabid hunt for You-Know-Who's minions!

She'd reluctantly agreed – only to be caught unaware by Dorea's astute observation that Dumbledork and Grouch were behind her election because they both saw her as perfect BAIT to draw out the Dark Wanker while they 'waited' in ambush …

Millicent felt a feral grin escape her – well, she showed those smug arseholes who's boss! She remembered the pious Dumbledore 'allowing' Alastor Moody to head up her security team, while the sanctimonious Bartemius Crouch could only offer Amelia Bones to help.

She'd demanded – and got – James and Lily Potter, as well as Frank and Alice Longbottom, Dorea's nephew and 'adopted' son Sirius Black and their friends Remus Lupin and little Peter Pettigrew. They were all junior Aurors at the time, fresh graduates from the abbreviated Auror course, and Dumbledore and Crouch let her be, thinking that she'd asked for them because they were all 'family' to her … and enhanced her status as 'bait' because they were all blood-traitors to Voldemort's eyes anyway …

What they didn't know was that she'd asked for them on Minerva's advice – being their teacher, mentor and head of house at Hogwarts, she knew how capable the group was and could be. Voldemort (shake) attacked soon after her swearing-in – and gotten his arse handed to him.

He'd tried again, and again, and again until he finally got the message: there were other, softer targets out there than Minister of Magic Millicent Bagnold … and her security team.

She bit her lip at the thought – wondering, again, whether taking the children as her security detail was the right move. Sure, they'd beaten the Dark Wanker several times – but she would always wonder whether it was _that_ which led to the Dark Arse targeting the Potters and Longbottoms – Charles and Dorea had been brutally murdered by Voldemort (quake) himself and they'd ambushed Franklin – Frank's father and Augusta's husband – in Diagon Alley, all at times when their children had been on duty with her.

And then the twinkly-eyed, whiskered wanker had come to her, pulling the guilt card, spouting some portentous shyte about needing the Potters and Longbottoms for a special mission or other …

She had no problem letting them go – Lily and Alice were both pregnant at the time and she didn't want them in the line of fire; she'd allowed Remus to go because Dumbledore wouldn't give up on his idea of getting intelligence from the werewolves … and little Peter – the guy was all a-fire with some 'special mission' that the old goat had in mind for him.

Besides, she smirked to herself, her successful stint as 'bait' meant that Crouch _had_ to assign experienced, capable people to her – wouldn't do to have inexperienced juniors taking over her detail and having them wiped out, not after so successfully fighting off the Death Eaters and the Evil Wanker, right?

Millicent Bagnold huffed as she realized that her cup was empty. Enough of the memories, she told herself; she had bigger problems right now. Starting with what to do with Charles' grandson Harry, now known as 'The Boy-Who-Lived' …

She looked at the sleeping boy now cradled in Minerva's arms and sighed. They were old biddies by now, she thought, able to experience the joy of motherhood vicariously – at least Minnie had her students, while her numerous nieces and nephews were scattered all over the globe. She sighed – Minnie's great love had been killed by those thrice-be-damned Knights of Walpurgis, predecessors of Voldemort's (shudder) Death Eaters … her own lovely husband killed during the Blitz …

She shook the thought off; time enough for that later. She shifted her gaze to Black and Lupin, and frowned. What were they fighting about? They were close as brothers, the last time she saw them … So why was Lupin trying to kill Black?

She dismissed that thought as irrelevant for the moment, and continued scanning the hospital wing.

She finally saw Amelia at the other end of the Hospital Wing, apparently scanning the area for … something, and she shook her head. She knew what was bothering the Head Auror.

"Leave it, Amelia," she ordered. "Skeeter's been able to dig out the deepest buried information before … this time, at least, she got the word out quickly enough. I'm really tempted to reward her for 'intrepid reporting' or something for that," Millicent smiled.

Amelia Bones' smile, however, was frosty. "Be that as it may, ma'am, I'd still like to find out how the hell she was able to do it … we were still gathering evidence when she got the word out to both the Prophet and the WWN. We didn't see her – and she sure as hell shouldn't have been there!"

"What do you mean, Auror Bones?" A bemused Minerva McGonagall asked. Amelia looked at Millicent, who nodded – time enough for the serious stuff later. Some banter would do no harm right now.

Amelia Bones took a moment to gather her thoughts. "I was on the night shift at the Ministry on Halloween –" she raised a hand at the Minister. "I know, ma'am – I should be resting but given what's been going on, I wanted to give the guys a break …"

Millicent nodded, knowing Amelia's dedication to her work and the people she worked with. She'd signed off on Amelia's promotion to Head Auror in an effort to balance and check Crouch, a decision she never regretted since it kept the body count low and the muggles and foreign magical governments calm. She gestured for Amelia to continue.

"Around seven o'clock, the magical monitors went crazy – they picked up a huge magical discharge somewhere in Wales; we sent Aurors to check but the teams couldn't pinpoint the location and came back. I ordered a higher alert but didn't want to issue a general recall … figured that since things went quiet immediately after, there was nothing major to worry about.

"Anyway, around ten or so, Alastor floo'd me with a request for an investigative team and Obliviators to meet him in Godric's Hollow. He claimed that You-Know-Who attacked the Potters and had disappeared … problem is, the Potters were under a Fidelius and he'd just been informed of their location …"

"Which would be why your teams couldn't find them," Filius Flitwick piped up from his spot. Amelia nodded at the diminutive professor, noting in passing the rapt attention of Black and the silent Snape as she continued, "The house was a wreck. Good thing that the fire suppression wards were still active. James … we found James and Lily on the ground floor, someone had placed them together there, covered them with blankets … upstairs, we found the nursery with the walls and windows blown out … we found a cloak and a wand which we subsequently identified as You-Know-Who's –"

"Oh?" Flitwick's high voice interrupted.

"We had Ollivander do the ID … I sent Moody to pick him up and bring him there ASAP; he confirmed it as You-Know-Who's. Priori Incantatem revealed three Killing Curses as the last through the wand … James, Lily and –"

"TRAITOR!"

The feral roar followed almost immediately by a loud thud interrupted Amelia's tale, and they blinked when they realized that Remus had gained consciousness and attacked – Filius Flitwick, Duelling Champion, had cast a combination tripping jinx and incarcerous on the enraged man.

Even trussed in heavy chains, Remus Lupin was trying to crawl on the floor, incoherent words escaping his mouth as he tried to get at Sirius Black, who was being held back by Poppy Pomfrey. Black was shouting as he tried to get away from Poppy, "NOT ME, REMUS – YOU MUST BELIEVE ME!"

Adding to the confusion was Harry Potter, who'd been awakened by the shouts, crying piteously from Minerva's shoulder, "Unca Mooey … Unca Pa'foo … Unca Mooey … Unca Pa'foo …"

"QUIET!" The twin roars from Millicent Bagnold and Amelia Bones echoed around the wing, forcing everyone except the trussed-up Remus and Minerva who had Harry in her arms to clap hands over their ears.

The deafening silence lasted only a second as Harry let loose a heart-rending wail that only young children can seem to do, prompting Poppy Pomfrey to bustle up to him while Amelia covered Sirius. Poppy's wand was out and ready to cast a calming spell on the toddler –

"NO!" wailed the young boy and waved his hands in a 'get-away' gesture which unleashed a wave of magic that everyone felt – and tossed the approaching healer into a wall. Luckily for her, Flitwick was on the ball, casting a cushioning charm just before she hit.

Another moment of relative silence followed, punctuated by Minerva talking softly to the young boy in his arms – followed by a sigh of relief as she laid a sleepy Harry Potter on a nearby bed, where he rolled over as Minerva placed a pillow beside him.

A cautious Poppy Pomfrey approached and, seeing Harry turned away from her, silently cast a diagnostic charm; after a moment, she sighed as the young boy closed his eyes and fell asleep.

The healer looked at the others. "Magical exhaustion," she said softly. "He should sleep for a bit now."

The others nodded and turned to where Flitwick was levitating a still-struggling and silenced Remus Lupin to a bed away from Harry and Sirius Black. Poppy Pomfrey's voice – sounding loud in the silent room – spoke what they were thinking: "The boy's powerful … that was the strongest case of accidental magic I've ever seen …"

"Strong enough to destroy You-Know-Who?" The quiet question from a frowning Amelia Bones made everyone look at her. She shrugged helplessly. "As I was saying, the Priori Incantatem on You-Know-Who's wand showed a third Killing Curse … so who was he targeting?

"Spell residue showed the AK cast at Harry's crib. Given the traces, it looked as if a shield or something deflected the curse back …"

"Harry?" whispered Minerva.

"Or something Lily did." Amelia shrugged. "We can only assume but the way things looked …"

She sighed. "It was Alastor who told us that young Harry had been taken away to safety; he didn't say who but I assumed it was Dumbledore. One of the Aurors – I don't know who – started going on and on about 'the Boy-Who-Lived' …" She shook her head. "I still can't understand how Skeeter picked up on that …"

"Something for another day, Amelia," Millicent Bagnold broke in firmly. "Nothing we can do about it now … the name's out and, short of obliviating the whole of magical Britain, nothing we can do about it."

She paused as she went over Amelia's story once again. She wasn't really listening when Amelia reported in yesterday; all she needed, really, was confirmation that the Dark Lord was dead – and then she'd had to deal with the press, Dumbledore and Crouch ...

She looked up as Minerva spoke, "I dinna understan' though, why You-Know-Who went after James and Lily …"

"I can answer that."

Eyes swivelled to Severus Snape who had been standing quietly in his corner of the wing – and jaws, even Sirius and Remus', dropped at the haggard, haunted look on his face. They also realized that he was unconsciously rubbing his right elbow – Amelia's eyes narrowed and her wand was already pointed at the young man, who nodded at her.

Sighing, he pulled out his wand and handed it, handle-first, to Amelia Bones who pocketed it.

"Before I say anything else … may I request that the Headmaster join us? I need him to verify what I am going to tell you."

Millicent blinked – where _was_ the whiskered wanker? She couldn't believe that he was enjoying a lie-in while they'd been up for hours – and then she caught the pained, haunted expression on Minnie's face. Millicent started cursing silently in every language she knew – including Gaelic and ancient Assyrian …

She looked at her old friend who was standing beside Harry's bed, her hands clutching the covers tightly and looking older than her fifty-plus years – and she could almost hear the piano falling towards her head –

"I'm sorry, Severus …" Minerva looked at Millicent with devastated eyes. "With everything's that happened …" She took a deep breath. "I … we … Albus and I were on a … a _mission_ last night and …

"It was an accident. He … he's dead."

_Shyte!_, Millicent thought, _I really need that bottle now!_

In a different dimension, a ramrod-straight General gently informed an incensed warrior princess that there was no alcohol in the complex to be had for love or money – it was a government installation, after all.


	11. Chapter 11

**RETURN TO SENDER**

Disclaimer: Not mine, make no money from it, can't even *make* money from it.

And the beat goes on ...

**Chapter Eleven. Prophecy**

Poppy Pomfrey caught Severus Snape as he swayed drunkenly, looking paler than he'd ever been. Amelia Bones, however, had her wand jammed at Sirius Black's jaw, forcing the man to clench his mouth tight even as the Head Auror threw an icy glare at Remus Lupin.

"Quiet, both of you. I don't know what you think you know, but we're going to get to the bottom of this. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" The two young men nodded fearfully – they may be experienced fighters but Amelia, who'd been in charge of Auror School when they went through – had handed them their bruised asses and battered egos more than enough times for the lesson to sink in.

All eyes turned to Minerva, however, as she stood tall while addressing Snape: "You're Dumbledore's man, aren't you?" She gave a wintry smile at Snape's surprised look, "I had to pin Albus to the wall to explain to me why he'd given a young man with no teaching experience the post of Potions professor and head of Slytherin house.

"You may have your mastery, Mr Snape – but it was gained via apprenticeship, not one where teaching others is a requirement to gaining one. He started off with his 'I trust Severus with my life' speech but I refused to accredit you … he finally admitted that you were his spy in You-Know-Who's ranks and he needed you close."

Severus Snape nodded, relieved that someone at least knew what he'd been doing for Dumbledore. He was between a rock and a hard place – it was his information, after all, that had led to the Dark Lord's demise … as well as led HIM to target the Potters.

Black and Lupin would kill him for the latter; the Death Eaters would flay him alive for what happened to their Master … he could have kept his mouth shut but Lily's child had to be protected. It was the least he could do for Lily …

His head snapped up as McGonagall addressed him: "As Deputy Headmistress and acting Headmistress, I'm offering you asylum within Hogwarts. You'll be safe within these grounds, until we can make a proper determination of what to do with ye."

He realized that while McGonagall was addressing him, she had locked eyes with the Minister of Magic whose fair skin was darkening as she listened to her old friend. The two formidable women stared at each other for a long moment before the Minister broke off first.

"It's your call, Minnie," the Minister said, ignoring the shocked looks of the others who would never ever imagine calling the redoubtable Minerva McGonagall _that_.

"Thank you, ma'am … but no." Eyes snapped back to Snape, who was standing tall in his corner, his dark eyes clearly conveying his shame, fear, and soul-searing pain. "I… I've done, done things that no man or woman should do to … to … gain this," he raised his arm to show the faded Mark. "You … it cannot … you have to do things **willingly**, of your own free will, both to gain the Dark Lord's acceptance – and for this thing to be branded and bound to you."

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he continued. "Murder is the preferred method … muggle or wizard, it doesn't matter. Torture before killing gets you noticed faster …"

He opened his eyes and they involuntarily stepped back at the cold hatred they could see there. "I chose my father … it was payment for the years of pain he'd inflicted on me and my mother … I made him pay for every slap, every kick, every hit with his fucking belt and buckle. Not just for me but for my mother … and … my unborn siblings …"

A heavy silence permeated the Hospital Wing as those in the room stared at the harshly breathing young man. Minerva, Flitwick and Pomfrey were appalled – they'd dealt with Snape the student for years, and never once caught a hint of his suffering. They'd always seen him as an angry, vicious and vindictive young man – and had dismissed it all because of the House he'd been sorted to.

Flitwick and McGonagall glanced at each other. True, they had their own houses to look out for – which meant they had, unthinkingly perhaps, gone along with the bitter rivalries that had surfaced in the past decade or so. The thought hit Minerva hard – she'd allowed herself to get caught up in those rivalries, allowing James and his friends to constantly prank the other houses … sure, it had been in fun most times, but the attacks on Slytherin – and Snape in particular – had bordered on viciousness.

She'd taken points off, true; assigned detentions when warranted, yes – but had always tried to walk 'a fine line' because those attacks had always been answered with retaliation from the snakes …

She shook her head. Even then, she thought, she was a **teacher** first and foremost … she knew better – she glanced at the Minister and lowered her head in shame. They'd both been close friends with Dorea Black – a Slytherin princess if there ever was one – but their rivalries had never gone beyond the pale and they were all the best of friends … unlike those here, now, who would be more comfortable cursing each other than having a drink together (after checking the drinks for potions or poisons, of course).

Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were also gaping at the visibly shaken Severus Snape – mortal enemy, prank target, all-around git. They'd never liked the spiteful Slytherin but then again, they'd never looked beyond Houses and robes to see the man beneath. Sirius, in particular, was in pain – Snape's words brought back all the suffering he'd undergone at the hands of his demented mother when he'd refused to toe the line and follow in her insane beliefs of purity … Snape's words about belts and buckles in particular struck a chord in him – he'd gone through the same, although probably less, at the hands of his bitch of a mother …

"Have you done anything else beyond that, Mr Snape?" Amelia Bones' cold, dispassionate voice broke them out of their thoughts – and they looked at Snape who was shaking his head.

"It was enough to earn me this, ma'am," Snape replied as he gestured at his Dark Mark. "I joined a few raids but spent most of my time brewing potions for the Dark Lord and his people. I threw a few torture and killing curses around – always aiming for walls or animals …"

He sighed. "I'll gladly submit to Veritaserum questioning and even Legilimency if you feel the need."

Amelia Bones looked at Minister Bagnold, who nodded. "Severus Snape, as Minister of Magic, I'm granting your request for asylum at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, subject to the following conditions. One, you're to consider yourself under house arrest and confined to the grounds of the school. Second, you'll place yourself under the orders of Acting Headmistress Minerva McGonagall. Third, you'll submit yourself to Veritaserum questioning by Head Auror Amelia Bones at a time to be determined."

She looked around at the others, and nodded at their tacit acceptance. "So mote it be."

The ensuing silence was broken by Sirius Black's soft voice: "Snape … I …"

"Save it, Black." Snape shook his head at his sharp retort. "Later … what we've done to each other is still too fresh … another time, perhaps."

"All right. Even then …" Sirius spoke in a formal tone, "I, Sirius Orion Black, hereby apologize from the bottom of my heart for all the pain, insults and other wrong doing I have inflicted on the person, name and reputation of Severus Snape. I say this in the hope that I be forgiven for the reckless and thinking actions of my youth but accept that forgiveness will be long in coming but something that I can only hope for.

"So mote it be."

Snape looked at his school nemesis and for a brief moment thought of rejecting the apology but the thought of Lily stopped him. Nodding, he whispered "I accept," before looking away.

"All right," the brisk voice of Amelia Bones broke in. "Mr Snape … you were about to tell us the reason why He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named went after the Potters. Do you wish legal representation –"

"May I suggest we dispense with the formalities of an inquest for the moment, Auror Bones?" Millicent spoke up in her formal, 'I am the Minister of Magic' voice. "We can make do with the people here now – unless Mr Snape wishes to include someone else?"

Snape shook his head, knowing that he had no one else to turn to now. He kept silent, finally sitting on an empty bed as Flitwick charmed a quill into a Dicta-Quill and prepared a parchment after which Amelia went through the standard deposition needed.

With everything ready, he began his tale. "In January last year, I was in Hogsmeade to meet a contact for Potions ingredients. I was sitting in the Hog's Head …"

"Excuse me, Mr Snape. Were you already marked at the time?" interrupted Amelia Bones.

"Yes, ma'am." He took a deep breath before continuing. "I … 'disposed' of my muggle father –" he didn't see the others blink in surprise – "sometime in 1978, soon after graduation. I'd been recruited while at Hogwarts, joining the Death Eaters' ranks in my seventh year … but I wasn't allowed to participate in any … actions until I graduated.

"When told what I had to do to earn my mark, I decided to use my _father_ –" spitting out the word – "rather than join the others in Muggle hunting." He shrugged, coldly – only Amelia Bones and Minerva McGonagall realized that he was consciously practicing Occlumency as he related his tale.

"All right, Mr Snape – no need to go into details now," Amelia interrupted again. "Please continue."

Snape heaved a sigh of relief. "As I was saying … I was at the Hog's Head to meet a contact for Potions supplies. While I was waiting, I chanced to see Headmaster Dumbledore walk in and proceed up the stairs.

"I was curious – why would the great Albus Dumbledore be spending time in a pub, especially one like the Hog's Head? I thought that he was there to meet his own contacts … we already knew about his Order of the Phoenix and were trying to find out more information about them, their members and such …

"I waited for my chance and when the barman was busy, sneaked up the stairs. It wasn't hard to find where the Headmaster went … he was talking to someone and had forgotten to close the door of their room …

"You can imagine my irritation when I realized that he was there to interview someone for Divination …"

"Divination?" McGonagall blurted, continuing in a shocked voice, "Sybill?"

"Indeed, ma'am," Snape responded, for the first time with a hint of amusement in his voice. "I could see through the open door that the Headmaster was not impressed and had stood up to leave … but then Sybill Trelawney stood and started talking in a harsh voice, completely unlike the way she'd been speaking only a minute before …"

He stopped to take a breath; silently, Poppy Pomfrey pressed a glass of water into his hand, which he sipped thankfully. "What I heard was … '_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches … born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies …_'

"There was more but I didn't hear it, I was too busy memorizing what I had heard to really focus … I must have made a noise or something because the Headmaster suddenly stood and made for the door … I got out of there, fast – only to see the bartender coming up the stairs – I pushed him away and ran, didn't look around for my contact but got out … apparated to my home …"

He paused for another drink of water, ignoring his enraptured audience. "The day after, the Dark Lord called for me. He wasn't … pleased. Some of his followers had been wounded in a raid – Rosier, I think, as well as Wilkes and both needed blood replenishing and burn potions. They couldn't go to St Mungo's … the apothecaries were already being watched by Aurors and they couldn't chance going there, which was why I was supposed to be brewing them …

"Unfortunately, I had also run out – which was why I was to meet with my contact. As I said, the Dark Lord wasn't pleased and … proceeded to 'ask' me why I hadn't done so …"

Snape was breathing heavily at this point. "I … I told him of what happened, what I'd heard … he performed Legilimency on me to retrieve the information … after which I was let go …"

"**A prophecy?**" Sirius Black exploded. "The Dark Lord went after James and Lily because of a gods-be-damned prophecy? He's nuts!"

"Be what it may, Black … I don't believe in the damned things but the Dark Lord apparently did, and acted on it."

He sighed as he looked apologetically at the Deputy Headmistress. "The Dark Lord sent word that he wanted Professor Slughorn's head on a platter and didn't care who did it – even a student would do. As expected, Slughorn resigned his position and I applied for the opening …"

"But –" Minerva's eyes bulged. "The enrolment lists! What better way to find out who was born 'as the seventh month dies' …"

Snape nodded. "I learned from the scroll that Lily had given birth to a son, Harry James, on 31 July. I tried to owl Lily, to warn her but the owls kept coming back … I went to her sister Petunia but she didn't want to talk to me – her husband bought a shotgun that she kept close by in case I decided to drop by …"

"You could have lied, Snape," Sirius interjected, though there was no heat or rancour in hs words.

"To what purpose, Black?" Snape replied in the same tone. "The scroll is not hidden – everyone knows where it is, or have you forgotten that you and your … 'friends' were boasting about getting in to take a look in your second year? I could lie and find myself dead the next day – the Dark Lord had servants even among the students …"

Sirius looked away; the man had a point. He may have tried lying – but to what end? You-Know-Who would have still found out the information and – Black that he was – he could see Snape's point of view. Better to be alive and try to do something about it, rather than dead and unable to do anything.

"I went to the Headmaster and told him – confessed that I was the one who was there at the Hog's Head and had overheard the prophecy and told the Dark Lord about it. I begged him, pleaded with him to tell Lily, to protect her … send her out the country …" He bit his lip as his face screwed up at the memory. "He said he would – and then asked me what I would give in return for their protection, to protect Potter, Lily and Lily's son …"

His voice dropped to a whisper, "I told him anything … anything he wanted, so long as he kept Lily safe …"

A deafening silence fell on the Hospital Wing, broken only by the sounds of harsh breathing from its occupants, only to be broken by the harsh voice of Amelia Bones: "So you became Dumbledore's spy?"

Snape merely nodded.

"And your … duties to You-Know-Who?"

Heads snapped to look at the stern-faced Head Auror. She kept her eyes fixed on the broken Snape, however. "Come now, Mr Snape – let's be honest here. You may be Dumbledore's man but you would have been of no value to You-Know-Who if he found out. You would have to continue providing information to … to HIM so that you can stay in his ranks and gather information for Dumbledore."

Snape shook his head. "Not as much as you seem to believe, Madam Bones – and please," he held up his hands. "Everything I have said will be verified by Veritaserum anyway so what do I have to hide now?

"My … assignments were simple – stay within the castle and listen for anything that would be of interest to the Dark Lord. I was also to watch for potential recruits, both among the students and the staff … The Dark Lord knew it would take time for me to become a … trusted member of the staff and of the Headmaster.

"Aside from that, I was to continue brewing potions for him … being a member of staff made it even easier, since I had unfettered access to supplies here. It was a relatively simple thing to over-order ingredients because I also volunteered to provide healing potions to Madam Pomfrey and St Mungo's." He smiled sadly. "My 'contribution' to the Light.

"But what information could I really gather here? The Headmaster's Order never met here – and I wasn't even a member. As I understand it, none of the staff were also –" He glanced at McGonagall and Flitwick who both shook their heads, although Madam Pomfrey nodded. The latter was no surprise to anyone, however; they knew Pomfrey could be counted on to treat anyone because of her Healer's Oath …

He shuddered. "I was there for meetings when the Dark Lord called … patched them up when needed …watched as they tortured helpless muggles …" He bit his lip as he glanced at Sirius. "I was there when the Dark Lord tortured and then had Regulus executed –"

Sirius stopped him with a raised hand. "I know about Reggie, Snape. You-Know-Poo sent his body to my parents with a warning – drove both of them batty –"

"Later, Mr Black." Amelia Bones' harsh voice cut in although she gave Sirius a sympathetic look before turning a cold eye on Snape. "And what about the Potters? Are you telling me that you didn't lead your Master to their home …"

Snape's answer was drowned out by the feral roar of Remus Lupin, whose lycan stamina had broken through the silencing charm cast by Flitwick. He didn't try attacking, though but simply roared, "IT WAS BLACK – THAT TRAITOROUS BASTARD WAS THE SECRET KEEPER!"

In two different dimensions, two people (a short blonde who was much taller than the other, a diminutive Hogwarts professor) both said at the same time, "No, he isn't."

Both looked at the incredulous faces staring at them and spoke in an eerie echo that only those in an otherworldly dimension heard: "What?"


	12. Chapter 12 Fidelius

**STANDARD DISCLAIMER: **Don't own it, can only dream about it and wish that I were in a certain Scottish writer's shoes ... never mind if she's in heels that would kill me.

**Author's Note**: Thank you for the reviews, alerts and approval of my work. There have been comments made about the general 'shortness' of the chapters and the fact that some chapters could have been longer or should have continued rather than leaving cliffies. I know - it's been a different style of writing for me but the muses dictate what is happening.

I will try for more frequent updates to shape out the story faster but can make no promises. Real life is rearing its ugly head - hope it won't scare the muses away.

Without further ado ...

**Chapter Twelve. Fidelius**

In the Hogwarts hospital wing, all eyes – except Amelia – were focused on the small demi-goblin who was shifting his eyes from Remus Lupin to Amelia Bones. The latter was trembling, wand gripped tightly in one hand and pointed at the gaping Sirius Black.

Lily Potter had been more than an Auror recruit and member of the Minister's security detail; there were so few women in the force – and even fewer men or women with Lily's intelligence, skill and drive – that Amelia had taken the young woman under her wing. It had been a wrench to let the young woman go into hiding but she'd understood – pregnant and with a madman targeting her (she and James, after all, were among the handful who'd ever gotten the better of the Dark Lord more than once), what else was there to do?

She'd realized last night, after Alastor had shown her the parchment with the Potter's address, the reason why she'd so easily forgotten about her favourite Auror and her lout of a husband. She had promised to keep in touch and visit them when she could – but never did.

It was the way the Fidelius worked – all memory of where they lived was wiped away and she'd simply been too busy with the war … she stopped breathing, as something hit her with the force of a bat to the head. "Minister … Minerva, Filius. Do you remember what I was telling you about earlier … about Moody?"

Filius Flitwick nodded, his stance indicating that he knew where she was going with this. A puzzled Minister of Magic answered, "You were saying something about Moody telling you to meet you in Godric's Hollow …"

"Exactly, although that wasn't exactly what happened." She took a breath. "Moody called and told me to get a team together and get over to Bathilda Bagshot's place. I got the alert team and we floo'd there … he met us and showed us a parchment which said 'The Potters live at Godric's Hollow'."

"So?" a clearly puzzled McGonagall asked.

Flitwick spoke, "If Black were the Secret Keeper, Auror Bones could not have told us where the Potters lived, Minerva – not while Black is alive and breathing."

Flitwick rubbed his face, ignoring the puzzled looks of the others except Amelia. "It's the nature of the Fidelius," the Charms Professor began, unconsciously dropping into lecture mode. "The Fidelius is an immensely complex spell involving the magical concealment of a secret inside a single, living soul. The information is hidden inside the chosen person, or Secret-Keeper, and is henceforth impossible to find – unless, of course, the Secret-Keeper chooses to divulge it.

"Disclosure is always by the written word – the Secret Keeper has to write it down and show it to those who need the information. He cannot speak of it; neither can those he shared the information with speak of it or even write it out – only the Secret Keeper can.

"In this case, the Keeper – whoever it is – would have given Moody the parchment Amelia mentioned, which was then shown to Amelia and her people which is why they were able to go to the Potters."

"So what?" Remus Lupin growled. "Black must have given Moody the information, which Moody then shared to Madam Bones and the others –"

"But that's it!" Lupin turned a puzzled eye on Flitwick as the latter continued, "Auror Bones could not have spoken about it if Sirius is the Keeper! She said it herself – 'The Potters live at Godric's Hollow' – see! I can say the same thing, which means the secret is out!"

"Filius …" Minerva McGonagall began, as she massaged her forehead.

"The only way for Auror Bones to be able to say the 'secret' is if the Secret Keeper himself were dead." Flitwick paused to look at the others who were gaping, comprehension beginning to light in their eyes. "After the death of a Secret Keeper, each of the people to whom he or she had confided the secret will become a Secret Keeper. The power of the Fidelius will be diluted as more and more people become Secret Keepers.

"If Black were the Potter's Secret Keeper – and he's here with us, alive and breathing – Auror Bones would not have been able to repeat that specific information. Remember, Moody told her to get to '_Bathilda Bagshot's place_' – he couldn't tell her to go to **Godric's Hollow** where the Potters lived.

"Another thing – the news reports on You-Know-Who? They all said that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named attacked the Potters at 'an undisclosed location'. There was no mention at all of Godric's Hollow …"

"They do now," Poppy Pomfrey's voice broke in. She joined the meeting with a copy of the Daily Prophet in hand which had a photograph of the Potter's destroyed cottage with the caption clearly stating 'Godric's Hollow'. "Although Filius is right – yesterday, it was all about an 'undisclosed location', today –" She shrugged.

"So Sirius could not be the Secret Keeper?" The pain and remorse in Remus' voice was difficult to overlook and he slumped in his bed. He looked over to Sirius who was sitting in his chair, tears streaming down his face. "Sirius …"

"It's alright, Remus, old friend. We wanted people to think that I was the Secret Keeper … I was the obvious choice, wasn't I? You weren't told and yet you knew it would be me … it was what we were counting on … everyone, even You-Know-Poo, would think I was the Keeper and would go after me …"

"So who was it, Mr Black?" McGonagall's cold voice interrupted Sirius' rambling.

"Peter Pettigrew."

Heads snapped around at the cold, emotionless voice with the barest hint of murder and mayhem audible beneath it – and eyes widened at the sallow face of Severus Snape, dark eyes burning with frightening hatred, his prominent nose flaring at an unaccustomed rate, his clneched jaw a clear indication of teeth being ground together even as his pale lips were contored in in a feral snarl.

He continued in a harsh whisper that hinted at the iron control the man held on his emotions: "Pettigrew's a Death Eater … Lucius recruited him – how, I do not know; when … I first saw him at a revel a few months ago –"

"PETER WAS A DEATH EATER AND YOU TOLD NO ONE?"

Only the wands jammed beneath their chins stopped Remus and Sirius from charging the seemingly statue-like figure of Severus Snape – only the blazing eyes of Minerva McGonagall and Amelia Bones broke through the red haze of anger the two Marauders had for their arch-enemy.

It was the stonily impassive voice of Snape, however, which served as a bucket of ice-cold water pouring down on the two hot-headed men: "And why should I tell you – _either of you?_" Snape snarled. "He was your _friend_ … your trusted _companion_ …" His pale lips curled into a sneer as he stared at Sirius – "I owe you _nothing_ …"

"Severus!"

The whip-like tone of the Deputy Headmistress' voice cut through the seeming fugue of the Potion Master's stance – he blinked for a moment before slumping against the wall but they could all hear his agonized whisper: "I tried owling Lily but the owls came back … tried talking to Petunia but was turned away … I told the Headmaster about it and he promised to do something …"

His head snapped up as his dark, beady eyes met Black's – the latter stepping back in surprise at the naked hurt and anger in Snape's eyes – "I'll kill him … wherever the little rat is hiding, I'll find him and KILL HIM –"

"You will do no such thing, Severus Snape! Neither will you, Sirius Black or Remus Lupin!"

It was a wonder that no one was suffering from pulled neck muscles at the frequent, sudden snapping of their heads around the Hospital Wing. This time, all eyes (and heads) were focused on diminutive Filius Flitwick, still standing guard on Harry Potter's bed – his red face and snapping dark eyes moving from person to person even as the scant hair on his head bristled in a way no one had seen before.

"Mister Pettigrew CANNOT be the Secret Keeper –" Flitwick's thin, squeaky voice rose, very much in the manner of a roaring mouse as he overrode their incipient protests – "UNLESS PETTIGREW IS DEAD!"

The squeaky roar made them all stop and blink in surprise – and Flitwick used the opportunity to roar, "WELL? IS PETTIGREW **ALIVE** OR **DEAD**?"

"He's verra much alive, Perfesser."

The unexpected voice in the Hospital Wing – loud, rough, booming and echoing – made everyone jump even as heads and hands snapped up and around, eyes and wands tracking on the huge, shaggy haired man in a moleskin overcoat who'd entered the wing.

A split-second later and eyes dropped to the rotund man with heavy jowled cheeks with tears running down, reddened eyes with dark bags beneath and unkempt, blondish hair standing in front of Hagrid, his head barely reaching the half-giant's chest. It took McGonagall and Flitwick a second to recognize their former student – but it was a second too late.

With an inarticulate roar that echoed painfully around the wing, Sirius Black's wand was up – an intense blue beam shooting out of its tip, headed straight for Peter Pettigrew. There was no time for anyone to react or even speak – the spell or curse was straight and true, blasting apart the top of Pettigrew's head and burning straight through the solid mass behind, blasting a fist-sized hole in the middle of Hagrid's bulk and spraying the empty space behind him with a fine mist of blood and bits of burned flesh and moleskin.

The occupants of the Hospital Wing could only gape at the shocked expression on Hagrid's open-mouthed face. Not one of them could move as the gentle half-giant took an unsteady step forward before tipping over like a fallen tree on top of a headless Pettigrew.

All of them would later deny to themselves that the first words heard in the eerily-silent hospital wing were a cold, indifferent "Well, he's dead now." It could only be their imagination, they would all think since none would really want to discuss what had just happened.

In a separate dimension, the shocked silence was broken by a rhythmic thumping that could be heard above the distinctive hum of machinery and air conditioning. Heads – including that of the dark-haired Director of Operations – turned to gape at the blonde head of Destiny Repair's CEO as she banged her head on the low table containing refreshments in front of her.


	13. Chapter 13 Confrontations in the Afterli

**RETURN TO SENDER**

**STANDARD DISCLAIMER: **Don't own this, make no money from it, just playing in a wonderful, magical playground.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**: Thank you to all those who reviewed, favorited and added this to their alerts. And my apologies for the delay in updating ... it wasn't so much a case of writer's block as painting myself into a corner. Hagrid was never supposed to be collateral damage in the last chapter ... but anyway ... on with the show!

**Chapter Thirteen. Confrontations in the Afterlife**

"Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore!"

He didn't know what the words meant but he understood the sentiment – that sense of awe and wonder at being someplace totally out of your experience (and Hogwarts at night, seen for the first time as you approached from a small boat in the middle of a dark lake) was one such moment. He'd first heard those words when he himself was eleven years old and crossing the lake, and he heard the same thing every year that he'd taken the first years across, starting some forty-odd years ago.

Unfortunately, his travelling companion was not impressed – it was doubtful if anything around him had made an impression. He had the face of someone walking the final steps to the executioner's block – dazed, eyes blank, mind a thousand miles away, his expression alternating between shock, fear, anger and resignation. He had an idea of where they were and wasn't looking forward to the experience … least of all, having to face his dear friends and make an accounting of what he'd done.

"Whar do you think we are, Peter?"

There was no response and the first man peered worriedly at his companion.

They made for an incongruous pair. The speaker was huge – taller than the tallest, wider than the widest – with a wild, shaggy mane and beard that covered most of his face, nearly hiding beetle-black eyes. The other was a short, rotund man with mousy brown hair and small watery eyes, red from exhaustion or tears and wearing dirt-stained wizarding robes that gave him the appearance of someone who'd been on a drunken binge – or had been crawling through the sewers.

"You're in HADES – the Holding Area for Death, Eternity and Serenity."

The two stopped – the huge man looking around wildly for a second before dropping his eyes and gaping at the small slip of a girl with blonde hair and what looked like a fur top and skirt standing in their path, with a thunderous expression on her face, fists on hips, glaring with sea-green eyes that were only a shade lighter than the well-remembered (to them) eyes of Lily Evans-Potter.

The huge man blinked, shook his head and looked again. He had to revise his initial impression: this was no 'girl' – this was a fully-grown woman with an aura to match that of Professor McGonagall at her sternest.

"My name is Gabrielle, Chief Executive Officer of Destiny Repair Incorporated – and I am NOT PLEASED TO SEE EITHER OF YOU! You are NOT supposed to be here yet!"

"Oy! Don't go 'round blaming me for somethin' I 'ad no 'and in! Ifn anythin' blame Sirius Black for sendin' me here … wherever here is!"

Gabrielle's eyes blazed and Hagrid cringed – if he was where she said he was, it wouldn't surprise him if she started sending lightning bolts his way. He sighed in relief when Gabrielle visibly relaxed, the tension visibly unwinding and a wry smile breaking out on her face.

"My apologies, Mr Hagrid … it's been a hell of a day."

"Hagrid, please … and thankee kindly, ma'am and – oh! Apology accepted – it isn't as if I – _we_ – have been havin' a fine day ourselves." Hagrid's smile turned pensive. "Wha' I would like to know, however, is what in Hades – beggin' yer pardon, ma'am – young Sirius Black was thinkin', firin' curses in the Hospital Wing and killin' Peter an' meself in the bargain!"

"If the idiot was even thinking," Gabrielle mumbled to herself.

"Ma'am?"

Gabrielle shook her head. "Sorry, Mr Hagrid … just thinking about some pricks I've met …" She sighed. "Mr Black had just learned that Mr Pettigrew here was a Death Eater –"

She didn't see Hagrid straightening up and visibly stiffening. Neither did she see the small flames igniting in his small, dark eyes. Pettigrew, on the other hand, simply slumped beside him in seeming resignation … and acceptance.

"… and suspects that he led Voldemort to the Potters."

WHAP!

Gabrielle blinked. She knew Hagrid was a half-giant but hadn't expected the speed and power behind the backhand he delivered which had Peter flat on the ground as Hagrid roared, "YOU WERE THE SPY, WEREN'T YOU? YOU BAS–"

Hagrid paused at Pettigrew's high-pitched response – "I WAS DUMBLEDORE'S MAN! HE GAVE ME THE MISSION – HE WANTED ME TO INFILTRATE THE DEATH EATERS!" – but it only fuelled the half-giant's rage. Pettigrew just barely escaped being stomped on by an enormous foot as he continued screaming, "I WAS THE ONLY ONE, DUMBLEDORE SAID – THE ONLY ONE WHO COULD DO IT!"

Something in that frightened, squeaky voice stopped Hagrid from squashing Pettigrew. It wasn't the defiant scream of a cornered animal or someone trying to justify his actions or deny them – Hagrid lowered the pile driver that was his foot, and glared at the shaking man as he boomed: "TALK!"

"There was no one else! You were faithful to Dumbledore … Sirius would never turn Death Eater – Remus may be a werewolf but everyone knows it was Dumbledore who took him in! No one would believe he'd turn on the old man, who'd allowed him to enter Hogwarts!"

Fat, salty tears flowed down Peter's sunken cheeks. "I was the perfect candidate, Dumbledore said. I was never that bright, not like Remus or Lily; never as popular as James or Sirius; I was the one always caught by Filch or the professors … Dumbledore said it would be easy to make the Dark Lord believe that I resented them – hated them … pushed aside, always hiding behind Lily, James, Sirius or Remus … the eternal sidekick, always there but never seen, always on the side lines and never the star …"

Hagrid stared at the sobbing man, his insides torn between anger at Peter's betrayal … and pity for the bawling wreck. He'd tagged Peter for a weakling, and had wondered more than once why the Sorting Hat had placed him in Gryffindor when he obviously did not display the bravery and courage of the Lions.

At best, he was a hanger-on, someone who'd gravitated to the biggest and meanest around, using them to protect him, doing odd jobs for them so they'd keep him – always a follower but never a leader (and never a really competent disciple at that) – essentially a sycophant to the big boys.

And yes - James Potter and Sirius Black were the biggest and baddest around: arrogant, cocky, conceited and proud. They'd come to Hogwarts as if they were the Founders Reincarnated, their attitudes shouting what they thought of the 'little people' – from Filch and Hagrid to their fellow students, even the professors and the headmaster.

Oh, they'd changed, he knew – James more than Sirius. He wasn't sure what was behind his change of heart but had noticed it in their sixth year … it was a change obvious to everyone but the Slytherins and pushed Lily Evans to finally, finally look beyond the arrogant prat of the early years and acknowledge the young man who would win her heart …

Hagrid shook his head. 'There but for the grace of Merlin go I,' he thought as he looked at Pettigrew – not as handsome or rich as Black or Potter, never as competent or skilled as Remus or Lily, always existing in their shadow as the eternal hanger-on and water boy … _Least loved, always, by the mother who craved a daughter_ … _Least loved, now, by the girl who prefers his friend … Second best, always, eternally overshadowed …_

Hagrid blinked – where the hell did _that_ come from?

But something Peter said re-ignited his anger: "WHAT D'YEH MEAN DUMBLEDORE BETRAYED US? WHAT DRIVEL ARE YEH SPOUTIN' NOW, PETTIGREW?"

A massive foot was hanging over the cringing Pettigrew; Hagrid heard someone shouting for him to stop, but couldn't see anything through the red haze over his eyes at the outrageous claim of betrayal by that great man, Dumbledore …

There was someone on his arm and he tried to shake it off – but that someone was hanging on tight, begging him to stop – he realized that the red haze was actually red hair, that he _knew _that voice and turned, planting his foot on the ground as he gasped, "Lily?"

He blinked at the woman with fiery red hair and emerald-green eyes and gaped at the man with unruly black hair and round, wire-rimmed glasses behind her – "James?"

Pettigrew was forgotten as his massive arms wrapped around the man and the woman as he sobbed, even as the other two hugged him, salty huge tears dripping like rain on their heads as he heard a woman's voice, saying, "Thought you needed reinforcements, love."

He shook that off – it had nothing to do with him or this moment. He couldn't believe he was hugging his dear friends … couldn't believe they were here with him – not after seeing their lifeless bodies and empty eyes in the ruined cottage at Godric's Hollow and he spun around, fully intending to squash the Pettigrew bug but stopped as Lily and James screamed – "NO, Hagrid, NO!"

A weeping Lily who was blocking his path: "Enough, old friend … it's over and done with – we've played our part and it's time to move on …"

James supported her – "She's right, Hagrid. We've done our part, our roles are over … time for you and the others to take over and move on …"

"But, Lily, Peter –"

"Knew _nothing_, Hagrid," James interrupted. "Only two people knew where we were staying – Sirius and Dumbledore. We had Sirius take a wizard's oath not to tell _anyone_ – not Remus, not Peter, not even Minerva if she threatened to turn him into a frog. Should have asked the same of Dumbledore," he finished in a bitter voice.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," a confused and horrified Hagrid said. "Are you tellin' me that the Perfesser –"

"Who else, Hagrid?" Lily said in the same bitter tone. "We knew there was a spy among us – they were attacking our homes, our safe houses, our hideouts. We were getting to be as bad as Mad-Eye: looking over our shoulders, not trusting anyone – except Dumbledore! _He_ was the only one who knew where everyone lived, the names we used, our missions and plans …"

"We even hid out as Muggles, Hagrid," James added. "Mr and Mrs Hart and their little boy Harry Hart – living in a little red house in Loughton, in Essex outside London. Just another ordinary Muggle family – we didn't even tell Sirius about it because it was a muggle neighbourhood …"

"Harry was happy there," Lily put in, smiling fondly. "He had a bestist friend with whom he played every day. We were over there for dinner when Voldemort came calling … burned the house down and set off the Dark Mark …"

She broke out in tears as James hugged her tight as the memories of that night played out: the sounds of fire engines and sirens … running to the window and seeing the flames and the Dark Mark and knowing that they couldn't go back … a glance at each other, and they'd obliviated their hosts but they couldn't, they wouldn't obliviate the children … they'd disaparated away with the screams of the children ringing in their ears …

"We stayed in a small muggle inn that night," James resumed. "Fawkes found us the next day … he took us to the Dumbledore cottage in Godric's Hollow where Albus Fucking Dumbledore was waiting for us, all twinkly eyed and solicitous …"

"Was that when he cast the Fidelius on you?"

James and Lily stared blankly at the dark haired woman who was standing beside Gabrielle, silently listening. She blinked at their expressions before shaking her head and extending a hand, "My apologies. Xena – Gabrielle's partner and Destiny Repair's Operations Director."

They nodded as Lily asked, "Excuse me? A Fidelius?"

Xena frowned. "Uhm … we've been monitoring the situation and it seems that everyone down there" – gesturing vaguely at the ground – "thinks that you were under a Fidelius. There's some dispute as to who your Secret Keeper was … Remus Lupin thought it was Sirius Black, who said it was Peter Pettigrew, which was why –"

"Mr Black blasted you the moment he saw you," Gabrielle said to a wide-eyed Pettigrew. She sighed. "Unfortunately, Hagrid here was right behind you …"

"Which is why they're both here …" Xena added unnecessarily.

Lily Potter exploded! "Stupid Gryffindor! He should know better! If I told him once –"

"Now, Lily Flower," James placated only to step back from her blazing emerald eyes.

"Shut it, James! You know as well as I do that Sirius knows the Fidelius is a myth!" She didn't hear the gasps around her but James did and blinked at the gathered crowd of souls – people – awaiting passage across the Styx. He shook his head, vaguely remembering their own passage through …

Lily's rant was reaching full force: "Idiot! He should have _asked first_ rather than _fired first _… but no, oh no! Shoot first and let Merlin sort the rest! If I said it once … I've always said that his brains are in his balls – too bad they're too small and not connected!"

"Which makes him perfect for a memory charm."

Lily's train of thought went off the tracks and she blinked at her husband. "_Think_, Lils … Sirius was the one who told us the Fidelius is a myth, that the Blacks tried for _years_ to get that charm right but never succeeded so could _he_ forget? Why would he _believe_ that Peter was the Secret Keeper for a charm that doesn't exist …"

"Dumbledore was part of the team that worked on Memory Charms with the Department of Mysteries – not just obliviations but also the planting of false memories … that's what Bathilda told us. And he's one of the best when it comes to charms and spell casting …"

"But why the charade? Why go through all that trouble to make Sirius believe that Peter's a Secret Keeper –"

"Why not? He blew Peter away the moment he saw him … never even asked why, just drew his wand and blew him away. Galleons to bagels, Sirius would have gone after Peter rather than look after Harry …"

"He did, Lily," Hagrid interrupted and the couple stared at him in horror. "Dumbledore sent me to Godric's Hallow to check on you … found yeh on the floor, James, dead wit' wand in hand … I was climbin' the stairs when Sirius was comin' down wit' li'l Harry. I tole 'im I'd take Harry wit' me – Dumbledore's orders. We argued for a bit an' then he gave me the li'l tyke …" Hagrid's tears were flowing copiously at this point. "He said he was goin' to go chasin' after a rat …"

He turned to Pettigrew who was sitting on the ground, face hidden in his hands – "Tha' was you, Peter? He thought yeh were this Secret Keeper and was trackin' yeh …"

The big man sighed as he blew his nose. "Guess it was sheer dum' luck that I ran over him wit' the motorcycle …"

"Motorcycle?"

They watched Hagrid blush a colour that would rival a hothouse tomato, completely missing the amused glances exchanged by Gabrielle and Xena who surreptitiously high-fived each other – but both jumped at Lily's enraged scream, "HE WAS GOING TO LEAVE HARRY WITH PETUNIA? IS HE NUTS?"

"It was for the Greater Good."

Heads whipped around in surprise; they – and the waiting crowd – had become so engrossed in the discussions that no one realized that the barge had arrived – the gangplank was down and they'd been joined by a dirty old man in filthy grey robes, grease-stained white mane and a beard that reached to his waist – it took the Hogwarts alumni a moment to recognize their eccentric, flamboyant and flashy Headmaster.

Their surprise didn't last – raising his hand imperiously, the old man repeated himself with all the force his considerable experience imbued him: "IT WAS FOR THE GREATER GOOD!"

They gaped as the dirty, dishevelled old man rolled his shoulders and straightened into a ramrod posture, shook off his tattered, dirt-stained robes, took off his glasses and cleaned them off before putting them back on and peering benignly at the assembled crowd.

For the moment, he wasn't the deckhand of the barge that brought souls across the River Styx – he was the one, the only, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore – the Greatest Wizard since Merlin, Order of Merlin First Class, Leader of the Light, Defeater of the Dark Lord Grindelwald, Headmaster of the premiere school of magic, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot – and it was time for him to say his piece.

"WE WERE AT WAR!" His voice thundered, and the crowd gaped – "AND WE WERE LOSING!"

He glared at the assembled crowd, lingering for a moment on his former students and the two who were the bane of his current existence. "Voldemort has had years – decades even – to build his forces and his strength, delving deep into the blackest of magic, gathering followers from the foulest creatures and feeding his evil into the hearts of men – corrupting their souls, pulling them from the Light and leading them down the road to Darkness.

"We could not hold him back – not unless we wanted to tread the same dark path that he'd blazed! He wanted us to kill as he killed, to destroy as he destroyed – he wanted the Light to feast on the same darkness that he revelled in, corrupting each and every one of us to his ways!"

His blazing blue eyes focused on individuals as he continued, "You, James! You, Lily and Hagrid. Even you – Xena, Warrior Princess and Queen Gabrielle of the Amazon Nation." He smirked at their surprised faces. "What? You thought I didn't know – that I spent all the time in that forsaken barge ignoring that drunken lout of a bargeman? He's told me tales of your exploits … how many souls he brought across the river after every one of your rampages!"

He raised a hand to stop Gabrielle's response. "Oh, I know all about her redemption – about all the battles she fought at your side – for you and with you … all in the name of the Greater Good! There isn't that much difference between us, is there?

"EXCEPT THAT I WILL NEVER DESCEND TO YOUR LEVEL! I will not allow my people to kill for the sake of killing – to murder and slaughter those who've been led astray by the honeyed words and false beliefs of Voldemort! We are better than he is –"

"So you'd rather that we die like innocent lambs rather than fight fire with fire?"

"Are we wizards and witches or not?" he said, dismissing James' angry retort. "We have the _skills_, we have the _power_ – we have the _spells_ to STUN, to DISARM, to PETRIFY AND TIE THEM UP! WE DID NOT HAVE TO KILL – surely you knew that?

"Each murder committed – I know what you felt you had to do, Lily, James, Hagrid – each person _murdered_ by you, no matter your justification that they were trying to kill you first – is a _stain_ on your souls. Could you not see what it was doing to you? Each person you destroyed without choice, without giving them a chance for redemption … could you not feel the darkness seeping into your very souls?

"You say you will fight fire with fire! Send the Killing Curse at you and you will send one back! Use the Cruciatus, and you will use the same to torture information out of those captured in raids – what? We cannot use Veritaserum anymore? We have no Legilimens amongst our ranks?"

"But we were LOSING, Albus!" James Potter shouted even as his wife tried to hold him back. "Stun one and the others would revive him! Shield against a curse – and there were others waiting for your shield to break so they could send more at you! And if all else fails, there is always the Killing Curse which could not be blocked – not when they send five, ten, fifteen or more at you at the same time!"

Albus Dumbledore turned sad, pained eyes on James. "I see that I've failed you –"

"FAILED ME? YES YOU DID, YOU OLD FOOL! When Voldemort came calling, did I meet him with the Killing Curse? NO – I dodged, I transfigured, I summoned things in his path – and he LAUGHED! I had the chance to use the Killing Curse as he walked up the lawn – but NO! _Avada Kedavra_ is too evil for the likes of him – there was no honour in striking him dead –"

"Even if you tried, it would have been useless, James."

"WHAT?"

"_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches … born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies …"_

"What are you blathering about?"

"Prophecy, James, Lily … a prophecy conveyed to me, confirmed when I checked the Hall of Prophecies – it was there, a crystal sphere labelled with the initials of the Seer who spoke it and my initials as the recipient of the prophecy: '_S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D. Dark Lord and (?)'_."

"Drop the other shoe, Dumbledork." Dumbledore blinked at Xena's sarcastic words, and turned to meet Warrior Princess' blazing blue eyes. "Tell them the **whole** prophecy – the one which sent _you_ down the road of darkness that you've been bleating against.

"No? Of course not – why should you tell them? They don't deserve to know, now would they? Even if they're dead because of that thing, they don't have to know _anything_ …"

"Xena." The tall woman stopped at Gabrielle's soft voice. The latter glared at Dumbledore who turned away, stubbornness clear in his face. She turned to the Potters. "What he told you was only the first part of the prophecy – the part that was overheard by a spy in the Hog's Head where Fumbledore was meeting with Sibyll Trelawney, descendant of Seers but with no real talent of her own. She was trying to convince him that Hogwarts needed a Divination professor …"

"A spy?" The whisper came from Lily Potter's pale, bloodless lips. "Peter?"

Xena shook her head. "No … Dumbledork hadn't _given_ Peter his mission yet. It was Severus Snape …"

"Sev? He _heard_ the prophecy and brought it to Voldemort …"

Gabrielle interrupted Lily. "What Snape _didn't_ hear was the second part of the prophecy." She glanced at Dumbledore who'd turned his back on them. "It continued, '… _and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies'_ …"

Lily Potter slumped as James caught her, but it was a near thing. Lily whispered, "_Born as the seventh month dies_ … HARRY!"

"Or Neville Longbottom."

Heads turned to an expressionless Xena, "Frank and Alice's son was born the day before Harry …"

"So it could have been Harry or Neville …" James began.

"Or anyone of a thousand magical babies born around the world at the same time," Gabrielle interrupted. She smirked at the surprised look on Dumbledore's face – it was obvious that he hadn't thought of _that_ … but then again, she reflected, neither did the megalomaniacal Dork Lord. She shook her head at the thought – '_Idiots! Two fools too full of themselves to engage their brains …_" and was reminded of Lily's scatological remarks – 'their brains are in their balls, too bad they're too small and not connected."

She shook her head of the disturbing idea and turned to James and Lily. "Unfortunately, Voldemork only heard the first part of the prophecy …"

"… _mark him as his EQUAL_," Lily whispered. "He didn't know the rest – if he did, he wouldn't have gone after us!" She stopped and turned to Dumbledore, her eyes blazing even as James held on to her for dear life. "YOU KNEW HE LEARNED ABOUT IT! Severus went to you, didn't he? DIDN'T HE? Severus went to you to tell you that Voldemort knew – which was how you were able to warn us that he was hunting us and told us to hide …"

Dumbledore turned to her, his sad face confirming her thoughts – and stepped back as her shrill scream rent the air: "YOU FUCKING BASTARD! YOU SET US UP – THAT'S WHAT PETER MEANT, ISN'T IT? YOU WANTED VOLDEMORT TO FIND US SO THAT HE COULD MARK HARRY AS HIS EQUAL, SETTING THE PROPHECY INTO PLAY!"

"IT WAS FOR THE GREATER GOOD!" Dumbledore roared, buffeting Lily with spittle and the personality that made the old man the only one that Voldemort ever, truly feared. "How many lives were SPARED when he turned to you rather than his enemies? How many more muggles LIVED when he stopped hunting them because all his time, all his ENERGIES were spent looking for YOU?

"WHO ARE YOU TO CONSIDER YOURSELVES BETTER THAN THEM? WHO ARE YOU TO CONSIDER YOUR LIVES WORTH MORE THAN THE THOUSAND OR MORE WHO LIVED BECAUSE VOLDEMORT STOPPED HUNTING THEM BECAUSE HE BECAME OBSESSED WITH YOU?"

"How many died because Voldemort was looking for them – because YOU WANTED HIM TO FIND THEM?" The softly spoken words that rose to a frenzied crescendo came from Peter Pettigrew – they had forgotten that he was standing there, silent as he listened to things that he was unaware of … and realized the role he'd played in the old man's mad scheme.

"You USED me, old man … you told me to infiltrate the Dark Lord's ranks – but that wasn't the plan, was it? You wanted me to TELL THEM where to find James and Lily … but no, oh no … that was too simple, too straightforward for you …"

"Voldemort's too smart for that, Peter," Dumbledore began in a condescending tone. "Why should he expect anyone from the Order to turn traitor … even one with a pathetic sob story like you? He needed to trust you and your information …"

"AND YOU GAME ME THE INFORMATION!" Pettigrew faced James and Lily, tears streaming down his face. "He was always scribbling during Order meetings, remember? He'd doodle or scribble, then ball up the parchment and throw it over his shoulder …" James, Lily and Hagrid's eyes bulged out as they realized what Peter was saying. "I always cleaned up after the meetings … there was always something there … a name, an address … a date or time for a meeting or the meeting place for the Order or the DMLE …"

He turned to the unbending Albus Dumbledore: "How many Order members did you give up so that the Dark Lord can 'trust me', _Headmaster?_ You gave me the locations of Gideon and Fabian, Edgar Bones …" He glanced at the Potters, "the Harts, who were 'a muggle family with ties to magic living in Loughton' … Dorcas Meadowes …"

His hoarse voice dropped to a whisper. "The McKinnons."

"Marlene? Oh shite, Peter …" Lily whispered. Sirius had been dating Marlene 'siriusly' a few months before their deaths and was on the verge of a proposal when – she blinked at Peter's crumpled expression. "Peter?"

The face that turned to her was a totally devastated man with an uncommonly heavy burden on his soul. "Lucius Malfoy told me to join him … the Dark Lord was there and told me that it was time to 'prove my loyalty' … I was at his side when he attacked the McKinnons …"

Pettigrew's face went blank as he continued, the tears now a river down his face, "Marlene was captured. Voldemort told me … told me …" He turned to James and Lily, a desperate plea for forgiveness in his eyes. "I had no choice … I channelled my anger at what I had to do … crucio, cutting hexes, stingers as she was petrified … and then I killed her."

He glared at the silent Dumbledore who was standing with head bowed. "I could have refused and Marlene would have been raped first, they'd have played with her for _hours_ and they'd have made me watch before killing us both. I kept telling myself this was for the best; that this was for the _greater good_ – better to die with dignity at my hands than be _used _by those _animals_."

"Sirius woulda killed you if'n he'd known," Hagrid said softly. Peter nodded – in his mind, Sirius had been more than justified in firing that curse at him – it was a small step in the atonement he felt he owed … too bad that Hagrid was in the line of fire from the angry, raging Gryffindor …

Pettigrew shook himself off and wiped his nose on a dirty sleeve. "We held a memorial for her and Dorcas, remember? I didn't want to attend, knowing what I had done but I had no choice … Dumbledore would have found me and _compelled_ me to join while the Dark Lord would rage and scream and curse me for avoiding the meeting and getting information …"

He glared at the still silent Dumbledore. "I cleaned up as usual and there it was … '_The Potters live at 22 Holly Road, Godric's Hollow_'. I sent owls to you and Sirius before my meeting with Lucius …"

"It never arrived, Peter," James said softly. "There were owl-redirect wards at Godric's Hollow and Sirius' apartment … _security_," he spat. He glared at Dumbledore, "So it was all an elaborate plot …"

"A plan that WORKED!" Albus Dumbledore proclaimed as he glared around him, a small bit of satisfaction bubbling within him at the sight of the assembled crowd taking a step back. "Voldemort's been defeated, his body destroyed … it will take him _years_ to return. In the meantime, the Prophesied Child, the Boy-Who-Lived, the _Chosen One_ will be protected and safe … he will grow up in a safe environment protected from magic and those of magical society who will try to use him, to corrupt him to their dark ways …"

"Safe?" Lily Potter near-screamed. "You placed him with _Petunia and Vernon who hate magic?_"

Dumbledore didn't hear her – or chose to ignore her. "In time he will be ready to return to the Magical World … he will enter Hogwarts where he will learn to be the wizard he should be, the one prophesied to defeat the Dark Lord."

He shook himself and glared at the now-gaping Xena and Gabrielle. "Which is why I _need_ to be there … it is my destiny to train the Chosen One, to teach him what he needs to defeat the Dark Lord – to show him the True Path of Light, to understand that _nothing_ must stand in the way of the Greater Good …"

"You son of a bitch."

It was the first time that they'd heard Hagrid speak so articulately, enunciated so perfectly … and spoke so, so, softly. He had moved so carefully and silently that no one realized that he was now standing in front of his idol, the man who could do no wrong, who'd protected him and gave him a job after the fiasco with Aragog and Tom Riddle …

"You fuckin' son of a bitch."

An enormous foot lashed out and caught Dumbledore in the groin – but the kick was delivered with such power and intent that Dumbledore didn't crumple to the ground – he flew into the air like a Pele-kicked football and landed in the middle of the River Styx where his mane and beard could be seen as the current dragged him away …

"'EY THERE – WAT YOU DO DAT FER? WHO IN HADES D'YOU THINK WILL CLEAN THE DECKS NOW, HUH? WHO'S GONNA BE GUARDING THE BARGE WHEN I TAKE TIME OFF, _HUH?_"

The crowd blinked at the sight of a dirty, dishevelled Charon, the boatman of the Styx, standing toe-to-toe with a flustered, shocked Hagrid who was stuttering and sputtering in an attempt to explain the unexplainable …

No one saw a shocked, mouth-agape Xena staring at the River and the new flotsam adorning it … or saw Gabrielle, once Queen of the Amazon Nation and current CEO of Destiny Repair Incorporated, flop on the ground while trying to rub away a massive, skull-splitting headache …

**Post-A/N**: I would like to acknowledge two of my favourite HP fanfic authors - Robst and Radaslab - for ideas and inspiration that somehow made their way into this fic. More power to them!


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen. Drachmas and Dramas**

"Obol for your thoughts?"

Gabrielle of Potidaea, Queen of the Amazon Nations and CEO of Destiny Repair Inc., reluctantly tore her eyes from the gangplank leading up to Charon's disreputable barge where three good friends were engaged in an emotional, tear-filled, many-armed group hug. She smiled sadly, knowing the pain involved in saying good bye, before turning to meet the concerned blue eyes of her life mate, partner and Director of Operations.

"An obol, Xena?" She smirked before continuing, "Given all the drama you got us into, I believe a drachma would be more appropriate."

Xena gaped at her partner and was about to respond when a whistling/warbling sound from the communicator on her chest interrupted her. Shaking her head at her still-grinning partner, she walked off to take the call – probably a status report from Project Tic-Toc, Gabrielle thought.

Protocol dictated that such reports would be sent to Xena first as Operations Director; it would be Xena who would brief her and they would discuss the situation before taking action. A sound policy, Gabrielle reflected to herself, built on trust, understanding and teamwork created through their time together facing a myriad of crises, situations and circumstances …

Unlike the Second Chance guys who operated with an inherent belief that they alone knew what was best for everyone else – and had been giving 'second chances' far too many times to far too many people which had led them to screw up far too many times … they were now cleaning out the Augean stables under the watchful eye of Hercules – no magic, no 'special powers', just plain, honest, backbreaking labour …

Sort of like a former Headmaster now floating as debris in endless circles in the middle of the river Styx …

All of which led the Powers-That-Be to their doorstep with a new mission in hand.

The mission tasking was simplicity itself: get the timeline, _this_ timeline back on track; prevent Magical War III; make sure the hero get the girl; help the good guys get their just rewards while the bad guys eat shit or die, their choice … Oh yeah, get Riddle's sundered soul together so that he can be shipped off to the _real_ Hades to serve time.

Simple, right? "Walk in the park," Xena had quipped when they talked it over and shook hands on the deal with the bosses … and then the lawyers got into the act.

They'd been expecting the usual line of "If either of you are caught or killed, the Powers-That-Be will disavow any knowledge of your actions …"

Instead, they found themselves signing off on a stack of documents promising all manner of things: that they did not own Harry Potter, Xena: Warrior Princess or any other recognizable characters; neither did they claim ownership of whatever people or equipment they requisitioned for this assignment; that this was a purely volunteer undertaking with no expectation of monetary reward whatsoever; that this was all for fun and entertainment … yadda-yadda-yadda …

"Hagrid's in place." Her partner's low voice jarred her thought-train from its tracks and she blinked as she realized that Xena had taken her usual place by her side. Xena continued, "The insertion went as planned – Hagrid took a few minutes to visit the bushes before chasing after Pettigrew; he was a few steps behind when Peter entered the hospital wing and …"

An audible sigh and Gabrielle nodded – Sirius Black had seen Peter and let loose some unknown curse which splattered Pettigrew all over the wall. The problem was that Hagrid originally was right behind Peter when that happened, which meant that both of them ended up here in HADES … and _that _threw their plans – not that they had one at the time – into the dustbin.

She rolled her shoulders – and sighed as she felt Xena's strong fingers kneading the tense muscles there, easing the tensions away. Gabrielle shook her head, still somewhat bewildered by the speed of events that she – as Destiny Repair CEO – was supposed to be on top of but now realized they didn't really have a handle on.

Peter Pettigrew arriving here was a foregone conclusion – it was the manner and timing of his arrival that was in question. In fact, they hadn't even given the man a lot of thought – yes, he wasn't the Potter's secret keeper but he was still instrumental in bringing Riddle to them; he may have been a Death Eater but he wasn't Riddle's confidante by any stretch of the imagination …

What they knew of him from the files was that of the eternal sidekick and water boy – willing to do the menial jobs to be close to and be protected by the big dogs; hiding out as a rat for over a decade while waiting to see which dog would emerge the winner … But there were moments when it would seem that he had courage enough to match the Lions of Gryffindor.

Thinking about it now, Pettigrew was a contradiction – a supposedly weak-willed coward who willingly spent over a decade as a rat with a wizarding family just 'waiting' for Riddle to return? He could have fled Britain after escaping Black in the sewers of London in '81 – after all, rats had been stowing away on ships since the first man set sail for distant shores. He could have gone anywhere in the world; made a career for himself as a successful thief or spy given his abilities or spent life anonymously after a successful robbery in his animagus form …

Instead, he spent over a decade living as a rat with a wizarding family just 'waiting' for Voldemort to come back? He spends all that time without even learning where and how Voldemort had taken up residence? Arthur was a department head in the Ministry; the Diggory's – another department head – lived close by; and there were the Lovegoods – a newspaper owner and journalist who didn't become batty until just before Luna went to Hogwarts …

Plus there was the fact that he'd been going to Hogwarts with Percy five years before Ronald showed up and became friends with Harry Potter. And then another three years before being 'outed' by Black and Lupin – after which he heads for Albania and Voldemort, rather than head for Pango-Pango or even Timbuktu?

Why? To become part of Voldemort's resurrection ritual – and sacrificing a hand in the process?

Those were not the actions of a weak-willed man, she thought. They sounded more like those ideologically-committed, deep-cover 'sleeper' agents who burrowed into their enemy's societies, living outwardly 'normal' lives but waiting only for a signal to become active once again …

Or a Manchurian Candidate under the control of a manipulative bastard masquerading as a crusading Leader of the Light …

Gabrielle shook her head and focused on the hands now kneading down her spine.

She'd been caught by surprise when Peter showed up in the Hospital Wing to turn himself in; Sirius Black blasting away at him wasn't that much of a shock given the juvenile, unthinking, Gryffindor-to-the-core inclinations of the man … but to have Hagrid come along as collateral damage?

Granted, Hagrid didn't have a major role to play especially with 'Great Man, Dumbledore" out of the picture but his coming here threw things out of whack – especially when his extra-large boot literally booted Dumbledork into the river Styx, depriving Charon of the deckhand he'd been demanding for so long which, in turn, led to a loud, raucous and migraine producing rant by the Ferryman who was threatening to go up the ladder to the Powers …

And once again, Peter Pettigrew had surprised her. He'd volunteered to take Dumbledore's place on the ferry, completely unwilling to accept James and Lily's loud protestations that he was not at fault for what happened to them; pointing out that, the Potters aside, there were others he still had to atone for.

Especially Marlene McKinnon, Sirius' fiancée.

True, he'd been placed in an impossible situation by the manipulations of the old coot now floating as debris on the waters of the Styx – but it had been his choice in the end. And if he could somehow atone for it by spending eternity cleaning up the Ferryman's barge … well, that was what atonement was for, right?

Gabrielle sighed as Xena's magical fingers seemed to loosen the knots in her muscles and in her mind. Peter's actions shouldn't have surprised her – they were the actions of an honorable man with the courage of lions who understood the need of atonement for sins committed – even if he'd been manipulated into it by a not-so-senile manipulative coot with twinkling eyes …

What was that?

She stepped away from Xena's soothing hands and faced her partner, asking her to repeat the last part of her report.

"I said," Xena began in a voice tinged with the slightest hint of vexation, "Hagrid's in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing; they had to stun him to keep him from dismembering Sirius Black …" Xena interrupted Gabrielle's forming query. "He's all right, out of it at the moment, but the good Dr. McGregor said there should be no problem."

"And the scroll?"

Gabrielle was worried; that scroll contained Peter's "confession" – actually a masterful collaboration between Peter and herself, with inputs from Lily, Xena and James. It detailed not only Peter's activities and suspicions about Dumbledore's manipulations as well as a listing of Death Eaters that Peter knew … it also contained enough hints and clues to help the adults back in the world to crack down hard now, rather than to wait around with their fingers up their asses waiting for The Chosen One to come of age and save their collective backsides.

Plus absolving, or at least relieving Sirius of some of the guilt he would undoubtedly feel at having killed Pettigrew without giving the small man the benefit of the doubt first.

It was a simple, elegant solution – and Gabrielle tipped a mental hat to Xena who had come up with the idea – much better, in her opinion, than the convoluted plans and manipulations of the old coot who was even now making his next lap around the cesspool that was the Styx …

She turned her thoughts back to Xena's words, relaxing as they penetrated her worried mind: "In his pocket where we placed it before we processed him for insertion … hopefully, Madam Pomfrey will find it and turn it over to McGonagall for proper disposition; otherwise, it would be sometime tomorrow – their time – before McGonagall receives it and acts on it."

"Do you think she would?" A trace of doubt wormed its way into Gabrielle's voice; McGonagall's actions in the original timeline hadn't endeared her to the CEO although, once again, the 'old' McGonagall was very much a follower of the late, much-lamented, "Legend in His Own Mind."

"I'm sure she would, my Queen," Xena said in her best reassuring voice. "She may have been a Dumbledore disciple but her heart is in the right place. She did bring Harry back with her after Dumbledork's … 'accident', rather than leaving the tyke with the Dursleys as the senile coot wanted."

Gabrielle nodded and resumed her previous stance; smiling as Xena immediately started working the kinks out her back. They'd learned a lot in their travels, she reflected, and Xena's mastery of a wide range of massage techniques had proven so, so useful over the years …

"I only hope I placed the correct scroll in Hagrid's pocket before they sent him back."

Gabrielle felt her neck bones crack and her eyes cross as her head whiplashed around as the words penetrated her languid brain – and gaped at a nonchalant Xena continuing in a reflective tone of voice, "Can you imagine the look on McGonagall's face when she opens the scroll and starts reading …"

The tall, dark-haired warrior struck a dramatic pose as she started orating, "_I am Gabrielle, Bard of Potidaea and I sing of a time of darkness, when the Gods played with the lives of the mortals, when a world in turmoil and fear cried out for a hero – oof!_"

Xena had been watching Gabrielle's reactions out of the corner of her eye; she'd dodged the punch sent her way but was unable to completely escape the blow. She held up her hands, grinning at the killing-green glare her partner of millennia sent her way as she laughingly remonstrated, "C'mon, Gab! D'you think I'd make such a mistake? Besides, where would I get a copy of your scrolls here? They're all back at the village, right?"

"How should I know?" An irritated Gabrielle replied. "And you know me – I'm always working on something … I have a scroll or two in my quarters right now, as you should know …"

"Well at least it wasn't your grocery list …" Xena raised her hands to fend off Gabrielle's steely glare. "Look, I'm sorry … just trying to lighten the mood here, ya know? It's the correct scroll … General Kirk double-checked to be sure … it wouldn't do to go to all this trouble just to fall flat on our faces because of a minor mistake, right?"

The small blonde glared at her companion before slumping in relief. "Xena …" Gabrielle growled in a tone of mingled exasperation and affection, grateful for her life-mate's ability to draw her out of a mood. It used to be the reverse, uncounted moons ago when they'd begun this journey …

She felt her partner's strong arm snaking around her waist, holding her tight and she greedily fed off the strength and confidence her tall spouse exuded, using it to fend off the momentary doubts that she'd had about this mission …

"I must say, though, Peter's confession was some of your finest work – rambling, angst-ridden, guilt plagued … can you imagine what it would be like if we'd asked Dumbledore to write it?"

Gabrielle giggled, the lighter side of the situation finally getting through to her. "It would have been twice as long with only half the information we were able to include …"

"Probably long enough for seven books or eight movies …"

"Shot through with plot holes, improbable circumstances and surprising coincidences, heroic moments combined with periods of incredible naiveté …"

"Plus Harry Potter with an Oedipus complex …"

"What was that?"

Xena blinked and turned – right into green eyes framed by fiery hair – and gulped. She hadn't noticed that the Ferry had already sailed with Pettigrew on board, leaving the Potters behind.

"Nothing," she said with every ounce of innocence that she could muster, ignoring Gabrielle who had turned away, shoulders shaking in suppressed laughter.

Lily Potter glared; she was sure that the formidable woman had been discussing her son but she wasn't sure what she'd heard. Unfortunately for her, Xena had several lifetimes of experience in dissembling and, while Lily may share Gabrielle's green eyes, the red hair ruined the effect.

She wasn't about to tell a suspicious mother that her son was seemingly besotted, in the other timeline, with a teenaged fan girl whose most striking feature bore a striking similarity to his mother. Honestly, she thought to herself, if the Powers-That-Be wanted Harry to see the Granger girl as nothing more than a sister, they should have placed the red hair on Hermione …

Xena just barely kept herself from biting her lip at the image: a red-haired, bossy, know-it-all with an uncommon drive to prove herself … she would have reminded people of a younger Lily Evans and make it that more palatable to have Harry think of her as a sister …

And blinked when she felt an unwelcome change in HADES' atmosphere – a perceptible cooling of the crisp wind accompanied by just a hint of sulphur, the azure blue sky turning dark as storm clouds rolled in – '_NOT AGAIN!' _she screamed in her mind …

The sirens had just started and the first syllables of a Valhalla declaration were booming when they were abruptly cut off – Xena sighed in relief when she heard Gabrielle's voice shouting the command over ride on the sirens and loudspeakers … there was no stopping the changing atmosphere, however, and she gritted her teeth in frustration, wondering what in the name of Ares' bearded balls was going on …

The sudden silence was broken by the sound of numerous pops – and they were surrounded by students in Hogwarts robes representing all the Houses. Before she could give vent to her question, a high, squeaky voice rang out: "Lily, James – is that you?"

Lily did not even have time to open her mouth before she was overridden by two loud, angry, hate-laced voices booming: "**WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?**"

It took everything Xena had to stop herself from stomping her foot in frustration; the thought that such was conduct unbecoming a Warrior Princess and Consort to the Queen of the Amazon Nations kept her feet firmly on the ground.

Nothing could stop the feeling of a major migraine bearing down on her, however.

'Make that two migraines,' she thought as she caught a glimpse of her partner's face.


	15. Chapter 15 Of Asses and Quirks

**RETURN TO SENDER**

**A/N: As always, all characters and people that look familiar are the property of their owners ... plus I solemnly swear that no actors or actresses were hurt in the preparation of this tale. Without further ado ... **

**Chapter Fifteen. Of Asses and Quirks**

This was easily the worst day of Severus Snape's life. And for someone whose memories of a 'good day' were vague and far between, that was really saying something. But then again, Severus had come to expect each day was going to be a bad day – and things always turned out that way.

It started at breakfast in the Great Hall – full of boisterous, energetic, rowdy students, still pumped at the demise of the Dark Lord, only three days past. The positive energies were such that even the Acting Headmistress' announcement of classes resuming seemed to have no effect – in fact, it seemed the students were looking forward to it!

Except for a few scattered groups, individuals or pairs – and Severus cringed as he realized that not everyone was celebrating …

Voldemort had his followers and committed fanatics, as well as the opportunists who flocked to his banner because of the smell of power and payback and the usual hangers-on and sycophants who wanted to run with the big bad wolf – and they were definitely not happy now.

They were destined to rule and they acted like it – strutting around the castle; verbally and physically bullying other students when out of sight of teachers or portraits; using their family's names and 'connections' to inflate already bloated egos, secure in the knowledge that the big bad wolf was backing them – and the bleating sheep made way for them.

But now the wicked witch was dead … the big bad wolf was gone … and the cowering sheep were baring their teeth and finding their balls.

Literally overnight, the tormented found liberation – and would be looking for payback. It hadn't happened yet – the sheep were still drunk at their 'victory' but it would happen. Especially if you mixed Gryffindors and Slytherins in a literally explosive class like Potions …

He'd raised his concerns with McGonagall – and gawked when she didn't fob him off with some blather, a twinkling of the eyes and the offer of a lemon drop.

She immediately called for a staff meeting where she laid out his concerns; thankfully, the others were on the ball and the staff focused on what they could do to alleviate the issue.

The answer was – not much.

They were too few, too busy, the castle too large and the students too numerous for the staff to adequately supervise or watch all the time. They had a measure of control in their classrooms, dormitories and the Great Hall – everywhere else was open season for the ballsy sheep and de-balled wolves to taunt each other or worse.

The portraits and ghosts could keep an eye on things – but what could they do when words were not enough and the spells started flying? Bringing in Aurors was out – not only were they still busy with the fallout of Voldemort's disappearance, there was no assurance that the Aurors (many of whom had been on the frontlines) wouldn't indulge in some payback of their own.

In the end, they had no real choice – they filed out of the meeting with the Headmistress' admonition of "Constant Vigilance!" ringing in their ears.

And of course, like a snot-nosed firstie, he'd allowed himself to be distracted.

Rather than roaming the potions stations keeping an eye on things, he was standing behind his desk at the front of the class, mourning the loss of Lily and pondering his future without Dumbledore's protection when it happened.

A pebble was thrown at a bubbling potion that was at its most volatile – and he was out of place, out of time and out of luck to do something …

His last clear thought as he was pulled through a thin, thin tube in a sensation so like yet unlike apparition was "_At least I'll get to see Lily again."_

But of course he wouldn't be so lucky – the first thing he saw when the nausea and disorientation passed was the messy hair, round glasses and shocked face of his least favourite person – well, slightly below both Voldemort and Dumbledore at least.

Recognition set in and he was _MOVING_ – wand out and up in his preferred duelling stance, screaming "**WHAT IN HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE!**" – words eerily echoed by the hated wizard in front of him, standing there like a rube complete with open, slack jawed mouth …

And then things got even worse.

He'd imagined this scene countless times, both when she was alive and the many hours since he'd learned of her passing.

She'd be running towards him with arms outstretched, the wind blowing her fiery hair from her face, green eyes and lips smiling as she approached … she'd slam into him like a red-haired torpedo before giving him the biggest, most rib-crushing hug he could ever imagine …

But not this – oh no, never like this.

His enchantress stood between him and Potter – fists on her hips, emerald eyes blazing and red hair blowing in the sulphur-tinged hair, shouting in a voice and manner that eerily reminded him of his mother: "**ALBERT SEVERUS SNAPE! WHAT IN MERLIN'S NAME ARE YOU DOING?**"

He didn't think he could sink any lower but the ordeal wasn't over as Potter shouted exuberantly, "**ALBERT? ALBERT SEVERUS SNAPE?**" James Potter was on the verge of hysterical laughter as he continued, "You mean to say your _initials_ are exactly what I've been calling you all these years, an A-S –"

He would have sent a killing curse right then but couldn't, not with Lily in front of the berk – and almost dropped his wand when a harsh voice erupted, "**JAMES TIBERIUS POTTER! I'll nae ha' anyone bein' insulted in my presence! Apologize – NOW!**"

Snape could only gape as he thought, '_McGonagall? What's _she_ doing here?'_ but found his brain stop at Lily's shocked, incredulous voice: "**TIBERIUS?** You said your middle name's Timothy!"

James Potter's appalled face at McGonagall's use of his full name struck Snape's funny bone and he sniggered but Lily's astonished words triggered a memory that wiped any questions about McGonagall's presence here – where ever 'here' was – out of his mind.

'This was rich,' he thought as an insane grin came on his face, 'a chance to redress the balance, payback on an epic scale but it had to be done right.'

"**TIBERIUS?**" He asked in mock incredulity before turning to a still-gaping Lily with a sneer, "At least you got your dream man, Lily …"

Her eyes narrowed to slits of emerald fire but this was just way too good to pass up and he continued in a shrill, little girl's voice, mimicking a nine-year old Lily Evans: "When I grow up, I'll marry Captain James Tiberius Kirk of the Starship Enterprise."

He blinked when sniggers and outright laughter greeted him. Spinning around, he gawped at the sight of his fifth year potions class of Gryffindors and Slytherins standing around in singed robes, along with several Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws in torn, dusty robes – and he bit his lip, hard, even as he screwed his eyes shut as he realized what his lapse had cost …

An amused voice calling out, "Really, Lily?" had him spinning around and gawking at the sight of a petite blonde bombshell wearing a rather skimpy attire that had McGonagall's lips in a thin, stern line while the male students had eyes nearly popping as she approached. The blonde, who was slightly smaller than Lily but at least several stone heavier (mostly toned muscles on a lean frame) continued in a droll voice, "You do know that Jim Kirk and Spock are in a relationship?"

"**WHAT?**" The outraged scream was torn from Snape's throat – Spock, his _idol_, the character he'd consciously emulated, the man he'd wanted to be with his stoic demeanour and controlled emotions, his mastery of the mind arts and combat skills, his reverence for logic in a highly-emotional world, was … was …

The blonde shrugged nonchalantly. "You could ask them but I think they're off-planet on some mission or other …"

"Bu-bu-bu…"

"Of course," the blonde said dismissively, "that could very well be some tripe spread around by the Gossip Kings and Queens of the multi-verse …"

McGonagall's icy burr interrupted her, "Be that as it may, young lady, but may I ask **WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?**"

The sheer shock of McGonagall swearing was diminished by the sound of a 'pop' – followed by surprised gasps at the appearance of a bewildered and disoriented Filius Flitwick who looked around wildly before gaping at the gathered crowd …

"I can answer that." The calm, commanding voice came from a tall, toned, dark-haired woman in leathers with a sword on her back and a silvery disk on her belt that appeared seemingly from nowhere; incongruously she was holding what looked like an obsidian clipboard in one hand. She silently handed the clipboard to the blonde bombshell as her eyes swept the crowd, focusing on the Gryffindors and Slytherins before flicking momentarily to Snape as she said, "As **some** of you know, there was a potions accident …"

Her icy glare cut off the derisive snorts, focusing especially on a pair of Gryffindors – a slim, black-haired boy of medium height and blue eyes and a tall, lanky redhead with a freckled, confused face as she continued, "… caused by some **dunderheads **who thought it would be a _wonderful_ prank to ruin a rival's potion, either not knowing or even not **caring**" – her steely blue eyes shifted to three Slytherins standing together: two huge boys flanking a snooty, sneering boy with silvery-blonde hair who was glaring at the Gryffindor pair – "that they were brewing a highly sensitive, potentially explosive potion."

She paused at another 'pop' and shook her head at the appearance of another Hufflepuff before continuing. "The explosion destroyed the potions laboratory" – she nodded at a fuming Severus Snape – "including the Acting Headmistress who was monitoring the class …"

"I was in my animagus form, Severus," McGonagall said when Snape's eyes snapped to her. "Given your concerns" – Snape nodded – "I wanted to be sure nae a thin' would happen."

She paused to glare at the sneering blonde Slytherin. "I saw **someone** tossin' a pebble and was changin' forms when …"

She grabbed a red-faced Filius Flitwick who looked ready to disembowel someone with his bare hands, allowing the dark haired woman to continue, "The dungeon's walls contained the blast but directed it to the ceiling – destroying the Charms classroom above …"

McGonagall interrupted her. "Survivors?"

It was the short blonde who answered as she looked up from the clipboard in her hands – "None. While some survived the initial explosion," she nodded towards the 'late' arrivals, "they soon expired from inhaling the fumes."

She checked the clipboard, "The last one should be arriving about now."

"**DANIEL JACOB RADCLIFFE!**"

The crowd scattered as a girl of slim build and medium height, with a glorious mane of frizzy brown hair, wearing dusty Ravenclaw robes and carrying a heavy book under one arm, barrelled straight for the dark-haired Gryffindor that Xena had been glaring at earlier: "**I DON'T BELIEVE THIS! WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING? NO – DON'T ANSWER THAT! IT'S OBVIOUS YOU WEREN'T **_**THINKING!**_** HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU NOT TO TRY PRANKS IN POTIONS? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU'VE DONE? HOW THE HELL ARE WE GOING TO PREPARE FOR OUR OWLS IF WE'RE DEAD? YOU'RE LUCKY WE'RE DEAD AND NOT EXPELLED …**"

The adults were awestruck at the rant that was delivered seemingly without drawing breath. The brown-haired Ravenclaw was about to launch into another tirade when a snide, malicious voice yelled, "**WAY TO GO, WATSON! THAT'S TELLING 'EM!**"

With a speed and grace that spoke of either ballet or martial arts training, the young Ravenclaw spun and hurled her book with unerring accuracy and devastating force at the silvery-blonde Slytherin taunting her. The book slammed right between the latter's eyes, knocking him flat as she roared, "**SHUT IT, FENTON – KNOWING YOU, YOU HAD SOMETHING TO DO WITH THIS!**"

She glared at the fallen Slytherin for a second before adding, "_**AND DON'T CALL ME WATSON!**_"

The girl called Watson faced the now-smirking Daniel Radcliffe and glared – the latter cringed, bracing himself for Part II of a lecture he may – or may not have – deserved.

She didn't hear Xena's admiring voice murmuring, "That's … impressive."

Gabrielle shook her head as she stared at the raging brunette: "That's … eerie."

A spark of comprehension flared in Xena's eyes and she nodded at her partner in sudden understanding, "Unnerving."

"Frightening," Gabrielle added.

"Scary," was the reverent whisper of Severus Snape.

"Worse than Lily on a rampage, I say," said an awed James Potter.

"Agreed."

James Potter and Severus Snape stared at each other, shocked at finding something they both agreed on. Their eyes – black and stormy, hazel and confused – locked for a long, silent moment …

They both loved Lily deeply, passionately in their own ways – but at this moment, they both wondered whether life as a Tibetan monk would be preferable to the daily tension of life with a volatile, explosive, scary Lily.

It was Severus Snape who blinked. It was in the other man's eyes – James Potter was prepared, perhaps even relished, the idea of having an unpredictable, fickle and capricious Lily at his side … in their past life, in this life or the next.

The man was a brash, arrogant berk – but he knew what he wanted and was willing to sacrifice, compromise just to have Lily Evans by his side.

While he, Albert Severus Snape, never would.

He may have loved Lily Evans deeply, with a passion approaching obsession – but here, in the harsh and unforgiving light of the mythical Hades, had to admit that he didn't love her enough to change for her.

He'd held on to the arrogance and conceit that was his armour against all those who'd looked down on him, especially the big-headed Potter and his sidekick Black. He'd lashed out at every jeer and taunt, to which the Marauders gleefully retaliated, escalating their rivalry until it came to a head in their fifth year –

It was his arrogance and wounded pride that lashed out when Lily defended him for the last time, destroying that singular friendship that had been the single bright spot of his miserable life to that point …

And he knew that Lily had seen right through him when he'd tried begging for forgiveness – he was doing it for himself, as a means to hold on to the only thing that had been good in his life …

It was never for her.

It was always for him.

"Severus?"

He shook his thoughts off and turned – straight into the concerned blue eyes of Minerva McGonagall and he slumped. She'd done her best by him, he knew – even when he was a student and she was the indomitable Head of the hated Gryffindors. She had been scrupulously fair, even in those days – never assigning detentions or taking points from him or his mates unless warranted or after investigation … and he'd dealt with her with the same arrogance and pride that eventually led to his breach with Lily.

Even now, when she was looking at him in concern, his first gut reaction was to reject her – to sneer and turn away, to tell her to look after her snivelling lions … and found that he could not. She'd always done her best by them, all of them – even now, in this strange place and the whole of Hogwarts' fifth years around them, her concern was for the one who was truly hurting.

He tried to smile, to assure her that he was fine but he could not – it was obvious in her eyes and expression that she understood and for that he was grateful. It may go against his nature to admit weakness but –

He heard a gasp and a shocked, "What in Zeus' name …" Looking around, he noted that a now-crying Miss Watson was being comforted by Mr Radcliffe – and he sighed. He had never done that with Lily … he'd had opportunities before but had always held off, preferring to hold himself above such displays in his conceit …

And gaped at a huge, blue motor home that he would have sworn wasn't there minutes before. There were people in denims scurrying around it, setting up tables, chairs and umbrellas with some sort of corporate logo on them …

"Is that – ?" It was the blonde, he realized, and he turned a curious eye on her and the tall woman beside her. The latter was grinning as she replied, "It's not doing anything in Miami, my Queen … so I thought I'd borrow it for a bit."

The blonde rolled her eyes in seeming exasperation. "Admit it, Xe – you just want a beer."

The taller woman's grin merely widened. "True, my Queen …" She turned to glance at Snape and McGonagall as she continued, "Although I'll wager that the Headmistress is in need of a wee dram herself."

The small blonde sighed and nodded. Turning to the professors, she addressed them, "Headmistress McGonagall? Professor Snape? Professor Flitwick?" She glanced up at the overcast sky before continuing. "Would you mind joining us? We need to talk … we've got a problem."


End file.
